


Survive

by saddle_tramp



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-16
Updated: 2011-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pairing:  Logan/Remy with mentions of past Victor/Logan and Victor/Remy<br/>Rating: R<br/>Spoilers:  TONS of spoilers for <i>X-Men Origins: Wolverine</i></p><p>Summary:  I wanted to know what happened to Logan at the end of the movie, and then this wrote itself. Logan is possibly a little OOC to some, but I think without his memories – all of his memories, like the movie said he lost – that he’d be like this. It feels right to me, at least.</p><p>Warnings:  Mentions of past physical and sexual abuse, but nothing graphic.</p><p>Note: This is <i>NOT</i> part of the same verse as my other X-Men fics!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

His name was Logan.

He knew that much only because of the dogtags he wore around his neck and the kid.

He didn’t know the kid’s name, hadn’t thought to ask for it, but the kid had seemed to give a damn if he lived or died. He wore the dogtag with the name Logan on it, so he figured that he could trust when the kid said it was his name. Instinct told him not to trust much more than that though, not from anyone, so he parted ways with the kid at the first opportunity, just after they found the body of that woman. He didn’t know who she was or what had happened to her beyond the obvious gunshot wound, but part of him felt like he should have.

Something down deep told him that the woman’s death was important to him, but he didn’t know why or how and it didn’t take him long to decide he’d have to think about it later. All he knew was that for some reason she made him think of the moon, but that made no more sense to him than the fact he couldn’t remember anything about himself. It was almost as if he had sprung fully formed to earth in the middle of the devastation the kid had found him in, except for the fact he knew things.

Like the fact he knew the sound of approaching emergency personnel was bad. The kid had said Logan was the one who destroyed the place, and he knew that wouldn’t go over well with the fuzz.

Logan took one last look at the woman’s face, wishing again that he knew why he felt like he should know her, and then he took off into the rubble. He fell into a nearly silent run without really trying and soon found himself at the edge of the island he seemed to be on, looking across the still water towards a city. He glanced back towards the sound of the emergency crews, watching the lights for a moment before he turned and started along the shore, looking for a boat or a bridge.

Some instinct told him that he’d never make it to the distant shore if he tried to swim for it, so he didn’t even attempt it.

 

~*~

 

Logan wove through the crowd as he crossed the crowded street at a brisk walk, fighting the urge to run for the dark alley he could see on the far side as he wondered where he was. He turned into the alley when he reached it, nostrils flaring to take in the familiar scents of garbage and the city, and he let himself move a bit faster as soon as he was out of sight. There was no one in the alley, not that he could smell anyway, and he trotted quickly for a dozen steps before he stopped suddenly, turning back towards the brightly lit street he had just left.

He hardly knew why, but an instant later he was moving back towards the light as he strained to hear a low rumbling purr almost drowned out by the crowd. Something about the sound drew him like a magnet, even though he wasn’t quite sure why. A few moments later the crowd – Logan wasn’t sure why there were so many people on the street, but it seemed to be some kind of block party – parted so that Logan could see that it was a Harley motorcycle that he had heard, weaving slowly through the crowd.

The rumble of the engine and the sight of the bike pulled him forward without him realizing it, and a moment later the bike’s owner met his gaze, looking a bit suspicious as Logan stepped out in front of the bike. The owner was decked out in leather pants and a plaid flannel shirt over a tank top with short hair buzzed high and tight on the sides and a pair of heavy, scarred biker boots. The only hint she was female was the way she filled out the shirt; otherwise she was dressed like a man, and she carried herself like one, too.

“That’s a beautiful old bike,” Logan said without thinking or even noticing that he sounded jealous. “A ’62, isn’t it?” He inhaled the scent of metal and exhaust, feeling like he suddenly knew part of what had been missing for the last two days. He had walked and he had run, and he had hitched a few rides with truckers going the right direction, but none of it had felt right to him. The sight and scent of the bike triggered enough for him to suddenly know that was what he wanted, what he _needed_. He decided right then that there would be a bike of his own in his future, and soon.

The woman’s suspicious look faded slowly and then she finally grinned, relaxing. “Yep! Thanks.” She lovingly ran her hand over the bike’s gas tank, looking down at the gleaming paint as she said proudly, “Restored her myself.”

Logan moved around to see the other side of the bike, sparing the woman only a glance or two as his gaze roamed over the bike’s sleek lines. The bike wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was close enough to make him wistful. “You did a great job.  I haven’t seen one lookin’ that good in…” Logan trailed off, then let out a slight little laugh as he realized he couldn’t really remember ever seeing a bike like the old Harley, even though he knew somehow that he had. He thought he might even have owned one, though he couldn’t remember it. “Well, ever.”

The woman preened, smug. “Learned all I know from my daddy. He’s a Hell’s Angel.”

“Tony!” A woman’s voice called suddenly from further down the street, “Stop showing off that damn bike! We’re going to be late!”

Logan looked towards the voice, spotting a beautiful brunette in a slinky black dress and stiletto heels standing on the steps of one of the nearby buildings. He looked back at the woman on the bike, curious. “Friend of yours?”

“Yep! The lady’s getting impatient,” she said with a grin. “Gotta go.” She winked at him and then gunned the engine and the bike rolled forward again, leaving Logan to watch it weave skillfully through the crowd towards the brunette.

The brunette walked to the bike and leaned in to kiss the woman who rode it, making Logan’s eyebrows go up as he watched the beauty sit sidesaddle on the back of the old Harley. A moment later the bike was moving forward again, disappearing into the crowd.

Logan looked around, still surprised, and finally noticed that the obvious couples around him were almost all same-sex pairings, and everyone seemed to be wearing rainbows of some kind, most with wild costumes. He turned to look in the opposite direction from the way the bike had gone and almost immediately spotted a banner in the front window of a café just down the block that proclaimed proudly “PRIDE 90” in rainbow letters a foot tall with the words “Out and Proud!” below it in pink glitter paint.

“Huh,” Logan muttered, bemused. He lifted one hand to scratch his head, looking towards the sound of a driving dance beat that turned out to be a club three doors down from the café. He let his hand fall as he spotted a dozen more butch bikers loitering on their bikes in front of a bar across from the nightclub.

He stared for a few moments, debating moving to get a closer look at the bikes and maybe go get a beer, but before he could decide either way someone ran into him hard enough to make him stagger slightly. He whirled and grabbed the person who had hit him, jerking him off his feet with an angry growl and picking him up with handfuls of shirt before it really even registered what he was seeing. The blonde twink who had run into him looked about sixteen and smelled like sex and booze, wearing disheveled preppy clothes that didn’t fit into the crowd at all.

The kid’s blue eyes were wide and terrified as he clutched at Logan’s wrists and babbled, “Oh god, I’m sorry!  I didn’t see you there, I didn’t mean to run into you!  Please don’t hurt me!”

Logan scowled and put the kid down, growling, “Watch where you’re goin’, kid.”

“I will!” the blonde said quickly, backing away. He bumped into someone else and squeaked, sparing only a glance for the guy he’d hit before he looked back at Logan. He let out a little whimper and then turned and bolted into the crowd.

Logan realized he was still growling and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and counted to ten to try and get hold of his temper. It was a little scary how easily he went murderously angry, and how hard it was to rein in his temper once it was provoked, but he was starting to get better at it.

At least he hadn’t shown his claws this time, which was a vast improvement over the first time someone had bumped into him after he crossed the river. He had left the bridge and ended up in the makeshift shantytown under the bridge supports where a large group of homeless had settled. The one who ran into him had been a drunk little old man half his size, and Logan still wasn’t sure if he scared the man to death or not. The little hobo had squeaked at the sight of his claws and dropped like he had been poleaxed, and the screams from a nearby woman made Logan bolt before he had a chance to see if the old man was dead or not.

He opened his eyes again a few moments later and spared one last glance for the bikes and the bar before he reluctantly turned away, heading back into the alleyway.

He wasn’t fit to be in a crowd. If he walked in a bar on a hair trigger like he was – especially a butch biker bar in the middle of a Pride celebration – someone would get killed. He didn’t want that, so he continued to work his way west through the city, following a vague instinct that told him home was that way. He had no idea how far it was, or even where it was, but something told him that west and north was the way to go if he wanted to find safety. He didn’t have anything else to go on, so he was going to keep going that way until something looked familiar.

He’d been moving west for two days already without finding anything that he remembered, but he figured his luck had to change eventually.

 

~*~

 

Logan sat at the bar, a cheap cigar clamped in his teeth and a glass of whiskey in front of him as he counted the cash in his hands, deft fingers making swift work of the five hundred dollar pot he’d just won in a bare-knuckle fight. He didn’t like to steal so he’d been fighting when he ran out of money, which was happening a lot more often because of the beat-up old Harley he’d bought from a pawn shop several days back. The Harley had needed major repairs when he bought it, but he already loved it despite how homely it looked covered in rust and battered to hell and gone.

A chance bar fight the day after he bought the bike had made him wonder about the moneymaking opportunity that side bets could offer, and already he was making money betting on himself in fights. His plan was to keep it up until he could afford to rebuild his bike like it should be done, and so far it was working out pretty well. He had been surprised by the side benefit that all the fighting seemed to help him keep a rein on his temper, but he welcomed it. After a good fight – usually with the odds stacked against him, since he wasn’t a tall guy and was getting better at keeping his claws hidden – he was always more cheerful, and he had just about enough cash now to afford all the parts he needed for the bike. He had to rebuild the engine and the carburetor yet, and completely replace the gas tank and half a dozen other things that had been shamefully neglected by whoever hocked the bike.

It was a nice old bike, or would be once he was done, but at the moment it looked pretty rough and ran even worse. The sound made him cringe every time he fired it up, and he felt guilty as hell for every mile he pushed the bike because he knew he was making some of the problems even worse. It was a crime to abuse the bike like he’d been doing, but he hadn’t had much choice. He had been babying it along until he got together the cash to hole up in some quiet little town and rebuild it into the machine he knew the ’49 Panhead could be, given the chance.

“You should finish that drink and get out, buddy.”

Logan glanced up at the old man behind the bar, meeting his gaze as he said mildly, “I’ll leave when I’m damned good and ready, barkeep.”

The bartender snorted. “You’re tough enough, mister, but you can’t win against half a dozen guys. Leroy has friends, and they’re all over there plotting to teach you not to mess up a local boy. Take my advice and run while you can.”

Logan glanced behind the bartender at the mirror, spotting the group of angry-looking lumberjacks as he asked softly, “And if I don’t?”

The bartender nodded towards the cash Logan still held. “That’ll be payin’ for your burial, son. Them boys don’t play fair.” The old man looked at him a moment longer and then moved to get a beer for someone else, leaving Logan alone at that end of the bar.

Logan looked at the lumberjacks in the mirror again and then smiled, finishing his drink in one swallow. He turned from the bar and made a show of tucking the money into his shirt pocket, smirking at the men gathered around the battered Leroy. “Nice doin’ business with ya, fellas.” He nodded and started towards the door, his smirk widening into a fierce grin when a glance at the mirror showed the men were hurrying to follow.

This would be fun.

 

~*~

 

Logan drove along the dirt road, the soothing rumble of the old Harley’s rebuilt engine the only sound as he traveled steadily upwards. He didn’t hesitate at any of the turns or forks in the road, some half-understood instinct telling him where to go as he worked his way higher. He didn’t remember any of the landmarks he passed and yet it was all as familiar as his own face as he drove unerringly up the mountain. He finally turned onto an overgrown rocky track that led up a particularly steep slope, and then a few minutes later he stopped the Harley near the burned-out wreck of a cabin, far above the tree line.

He was sure that this place high in the Canadian Rockies was where he had been going all this time, but now that he was finally there he still didn’t know why.

Logan cut the engine on the Harley and dismounted, walking slowly along the top of the ridge as he looked around, trying to figure out why he was there. The charred remains of the cabin still stank of smoke and kerosene to his sensitive nose, telling him that the fire was recent and intentional, but he didn’t really care one way or the other as he picked his way into the wreckage. He stepped over the twisted, melted remains of pots and pans in what had to have been the kitchen, cinders crunching beneath his boots on the blackened flagstone floor as he looked around for some clue why he was there.

He wandered aimlessly through the rubble for over ten minutes, occasionally stopping to get a closer look at some charred remnant of whoever had lived in the cabin, but he saw nothing useful until he was poking through what was left of a bedroom. He was about to move on when he noticed a locked metal box beneath the pile of old fashioned bed springs, charred but intact. He kicked the springs aside and picked up the box, feeling that he had found what he was after as he turned and carried it out of the cabin.

A few minutes later he had the box on the recently replaced two-up seat of his Harley, the lock neatly sliced apart and the lid open as he stared down at the discolored but intact items inside.

A photo of the dead woman from Three Mile Island lay on top of a pile of photos inside the box, looking at the camera with a beautiful smile. The woman was leaning back into the arms of a man he recognized as himself with a cabin behind them that Logan thought was likely the one he stood by the remains of, but Logan remembered nothing about the woman or the cabin. He also didn’t remember ever being as happy as he looked in the photo, eyes sparkling and a wide grin on his face.

It was more than a little surreal to see himself so completely and obviously happy and in love but remember nothing about it. The photo could have been of strangers for all he felt when he saw it, despite the fact it was his face. He remembered none of it and he felt nothing for the woman whose body he had left behind thousands of miles ago. He felt like he should at least _care_ that she was dead after seeing his own face so deliriously happy to hold her, but he was still empty inside.  Her death should affect him, should anger him or sadden him or _something_ , but the simple fact was that it didn’t.

Logan just looked at the photo for a minute longer and then picked it up, revealing a photo of a long-legged black appaloosa horse with Logan and the same woman on its bare back, galloping through a shallow river with no restraint of any kind on the horse to guide it with. He stared at the photo for several minutes before he finally looked at the back of the first one, reading the simple legend there and wishing he could remember anything about it. ‘ _James and Kayla, June 87’_ was all it said, and a quick check of the back of the photo of him and the woman on the horse revealed _‘James and Kayla on Liberty, March 86’_.

Logan found many more photos in the lockbox, all labeled in a careless scrawl he thought might be his own handwriting, but he recognized none of the people in them except himself. There were a dozen photos of him with the dead woman called Kayla, all labeling him as James, and below those was a recent-looking group photo of men in uniform with him wearing a captain’s insignia and the name Logan on his chest, but none of the people _felt_ familiar to him any more than the name James did.

Logan dug deeper in the box despite his disquiet, and as he did so he found pictures of himself that got older and older. James seemed as if it might be his own first name, the other half of a name he had wondered about often over the long lonely miles he traveled while instinct pulled him unerringly towards something that felt like home, but the name James _felt_ no more like his own than the land he stood on felt like his home. He was there, and he was sure the ridge was where he had been searching for, but finally finding it left him feeling cold and empty just like the name did.

The only photos of him out of uniform were all with either a man named Victor or the woman, Kayla, but there wasn’t a photo of the three of them together, or any photos with Victor within the last seven years. As he dug deeper in the box the dates on the photos grew more and more unbelievable until he got to one that said ‘ _Me and Victor, 1942’_. The Logan in the photo was smiling up at the other man, Victor, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to him, and Logan felt it like a punch in his gut. The Victor in the photo was looking at Logan much the same way, both of them in tattered Army uniforms that were streaked with mud and blood, and Logan was suddenly sure that they had been more than friends.

Logan stared at the picture of him in the arms of the big guy who had been in many of the other photos – usually with an arm around him, grinning at the camera – for a long time before he finally laid it aside to see what else was in the lockbox. He knew something more about himself, something that explained why he had found his eye lingering more often on another man than on a woman, but the knowledge gave him no satisfaction. He didn’t need more problems, and even though he didn’t remember much, he had seen enough on his journey to know that being queer wasn’t much easier than being a mutant. He was pretty sure that being both would be worse than either, even if he was bisexual. He hadn’t seen much indication that people who despised queer men might be less inclined to hate men who preferred other men but also liked women. Just knowing that a man thought someone with a dick was sexy seemed to be enough for most of the world to condemn them.

He moved two slim leather-covered boxes without opening them to see what rattled inside them, somehow knowing they held medals even though he didn’t remember ever seeing them before, then found the deed to the ridge he was on in the name James Logan III, dated 1983. Beneath that deed was another to several thousand acres of ground in Alaska dated 1901 and owned by James Logan. Underneath that deed was the last item in the box, an ancient photo of himself and Victor in Union army uniforms.

The label on the back of that photo was written by a different hand in a careful childish print that said simply, ‘ _Jimmy & Me’_, and Logan wondered how old he and Victor had been then. Victor was the only one who was as unchanged through the decades as Logan himself was, and all the photos of them together had made Logan sure that the man had been very important to him even though he had no memory of him. The phrase two against the world popped into his head suddenly, and it felt so familiar and right that Logan was sure it must have been something he thought many times before.

Logan began to put everything back in the box just like he had found it, looking again at each photo and trying to adjust to the fact his face and Victor’s never changed, even though the people around them in the photos did. Victor had to be a mutant like him to still be so young and strong after over a century, but Logan couldn’t even begin to guess how many years they stayed together or why Victor was in none of the more recent photos. Logan’s face the day he wore that Union uniform over a hundred years ago looked almost identical to the way his face still looked, and he finally began to wonder if he would ever age. He had already known he healed almost instantly from minor wounds and expected that he would heal from major ones, too, but he was still surprised to realize he might well be immortal, or close to it.

The thought of living forever left Logan cold and he finally put the last photo back into the box and closed it, reaching into one of the heavy leather saddlebags on his bike for a small coil of rope. He tied the box closed and then started to tie it securely on the rear seat of his bike, wanting to take it with him despite the fact he remembered nothing of the past it held. The names of the people who had been in the most recent photos gave him a place to start asking about his past, which was more than he had before he found the lockbox.

He didn’t know what to think of learning his own first name was James, evidently also called Jimmy. They both felt foreign to him and he wasn’t sure he wanted to try to be either person again. The name Logan felt right to him, felt like it was _his_ , but James felt like someone he didn’t even know. The nickname Jimmy left him feeling tense and even a bit angry, and he decided after only a moment that he would never use it. He didn’t know why he felt so negatively about it, but he did and he figured there had to be a reason the thought of being called Jimmy made his gut clench and set his teeth on edge. He thought it might have something to do with the man called Victor, mostly because looking for long at any of the photos of Victor left him feeling almost as unsettled. He couldn’t fathom why he would stay with the man for over a century and then part ways with him, but that seemed to be what had happened unless the man named Victor had been killed.

Logan shook himself, hating that he didn’t even know why he was suddenly tense and wary as a deer scenting wolves. He determinedly put thoughts about the man he had once been out of his mind, along with thoughts about Kayla and Victor. The man in the photos with them wasn’t him anymore, and he decided suddenly that he wouldn’t use either of the names, not unless someone recognized him and called him by them. The man he used to be was gone, and as he stood there holding that box of memories he couldn’t recall, he had the feeling his life would be better if he let that man die.

Logan looked around the ridge one last time once the box was secure, pausing to enjoy the view of the sunset over the mountains to the west until the last ray of light was gone. He turned away then and climbed on his Harley, and moments later he was roaring off down the overgrown trail towards the highway he’d left twenty miles and several hours ago.

He had no idea where he was going anymore, no direction calling to him the way the road to the ridgeline cabin had, but by the time he reached the main highway he didn’t hesitate to turn east. He turned south on the first major road he found going that direction, roaring on down the moonlit highway through the night to stop near dawn on the US side of the border in a stand of timber about a mile off the road. He slept there until noon and then got back on his bike and headed for the road again, turning off the highway at the first sign promising food and gas.

An hour later he was on the road again, driving steadily through the day. He had nowhere to go as far as he knew, but he did have his Harley and the road in front of him and Logan figured that would be enough for a while. He would see some country he didn’t know – or at least didn’t remember – and go the way the wind took him until he had a reason to stop. Maybe someday he’d find something that would bring his past back to him, but he was finally sure he would survive without it.

Going by the photos in that box on the back of his bike, he’d been alive longer than anyone he’d ever heard of before, so he figured there was a good chance he’d keep right on living.

 

~*~

 

Logan shifted in the dark booth as he glanced around the crowded club, trying not to be obvious about adjusting himself.

The name of the place was ‘Forbidden Fruit’, and it fit pretty well. Just after Logan had stepped inside the door he hadn’t had a clue what drew him there, but ten minutes later he _did_ know why he hadn’t left.

The tables around the dance floor were crowded, but they seemed empty compared to the writhing mass of beautiful bodies out of the floor. There were men and women out there dancing in pairs and groups, and it had taken Logan a few minutes to notice very few of the couples were male/female. He had been by an empty booth in the back by the time he realized it, and he had settled back into the booth to reconsider the sanity of his choice. Considering his sanity soon fell by the wayside as he got distracted by the sea of moving bodies and the overpowering scent of sex, weed, and alcohol in the club.

A friendly waiter had been glad to bring Logan a bottle of Jose Quervo, and he had quickly downed more than half of the bottle in the hopes of relaxing a bit. His healing factor wasn’t cooperating with his desire to get drunk, though, and it seemed like every time he barely felt a buzz it would fade away again within moments. He had been just sipping his tequila since he realized that, still enjoying the taste even if he couldn’t use it to help him relax while he soaked up the heady blend of pheromones in the air and watched one of the couples on the floor not far from his booth.

The two men seldom glanced at anyone else, and from the way they looked at each other Logan thought they had been together a while. One of them was a slim freckle-faced man with red spiky hair and flashing green eyes, and his partner in leather pants and a vest was a burly tattooed guy that was bald as an egg but had a very hairy chest. The big man was obviously a biker, and his build and what Logan somehow recognized as a prison tattoo on his shoulder told Logan that the guy had probably spent a lot of time working out while he was in prison. The redhead obviously enjoyed the biker’s muscles and kept stroking them or playing with the hair on the biker’s chest, teasing the big man who just laughed and let him as they danced. They kept up that routine through four songs while Logan watched, and Logan was surprised to realize after a while that he was jealous.

He finally admitted to himself then why he was there, but as he began to look around the club again he didn’t remember how to go about getting what he wanted. He saw more than one obviously unattached man in the crowd who was dancing with anyone who seemed interested, but he wasn’t about to try the same thing in hopes of meeting someone. He wasn’t sure of it, but he had the feeling he was a terrible dancer.

One of the skimpily-dressed waiters stopped in front of him suddenly, making Logan look up in surprise. “You’ve got an admirer, sweetie,” the rather short, mostly naked boy teased him, dark eyes sparkling as he showed Logan the virulently blue margarita he carried on his tray.

Logan's eyebrows rose in surprise. “Who?”

The twink leaned closer to Logan’s side and pointed several tables over to a tall dark-haired man who was watching them intently as he raised a glass to Logan. “That’s him, right there.” The waiter looked back at Logan, eyes still sparkling as he added, “You seem new to this sweetie, so I’m going to give you a bit of advice. Accepting the drink is as good as telling him you’re interested in getting a _lot_ closer to him.”

Logan gave the waiter an amused look. “I knew that much, kid. That’s why I asked who sent it.” He looked back over at the guy, giving him a slow appraising look.

The man looked to be in his mid thirties and didn’t look any more at home in the club than Logan did. Logan’s worn blue jeans and tight black t-shirt with an open but tucked in red and black flannel shirt over it stood out a bit more than the other man’s jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket did, but only because the man was dressed all in black. The guy’s dark hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail, and his blue eyes were intent and amused as he watched Logan look at him. The guy could have easily passed for a straight guy in any bar Logan had ever been in, even with the silver hoop earrings he wore, and there weren’t many men in the club that Logan could say that about.

Logan finally reached out to take the drink off the waiter’s tray, not taking his gaze off the man who had sent it.

The man smiled and stood to begin making his way towards Logan’s table as the young waiter patted Logan’s shoulder and leaned down to murmur into his ear, “Remember to find out who he thinks is topping before you go anywhere with him, sweetie. Guys that look that straight can get mean as hell about being asked to bottom, even for a studmuffin like you.”

Logan looked at the kid quickly, blushing slightly as he let out a surprised laugh, but the boy was already heading towards another table. The kid was dancing more than he walked and it did interesting things to his round little ass that held Logan’s attention despite the fact he was sure every move was being made with that goal in mind. Logan felt like a dirty old man for it, but he still watched the boy go.

“Mind if I join you?” an amused male voice asked a moment later, making Logan look quickly towards the voice.

“Not a bit,” Logan said easily, and then he finally took a sniff of the margarita that the dark-haired man had sent him. He smiled when he realized it wasn’t some unholy blueberry thing like the color had made him suspect, taking a drink of the tangy citrus cocktail before he added, “I’m Logan.”

“Nick.” Nick settled comfortably into the booth across from Logan, still amused as he added, “You don’t get out much, do you?”

Logan snorted a laugh, meeting Nick’s gaze again. “That obvious, huh?”

Nick grinned. “I get the feeling you’re more used to quiet little biker bars with battered old jukeboxes and waitresses that call everyone honey.”

“You’re good,” Logan said, chuckling. “I’m still not real sure why I came in this place.”

Nick leaned forward as if to tell Logan a secret, blue eyes sparkling as he teased, “To get laid.”

Logan laughed. “Maybe.” He glanced around and then back at Nick, smiling crookedly. “This sure ain’t my kind of place, though. You were right about that.”

Nick grinned and cocked his head to one side slightly. “How about we get out of here, then? I know a great little bar not far from here. They’ve got a few pool tables and a jukebox, and they serve the best barbecue around.”

Logan’s smile widened into a grin, and he downed the rest of the margarita in one long swallow before he grabbed his jean jacket off the bench beside him. “Let’s get the hell out of here, then.”

“Great!” Nick stood and waited for Logan to do the same, then headed towards the front door, smirking a bit.

Logan followed close behind Nick, letting his gaze roam over the taller man’s wide shoulders and down his muscular back to the tight jeans he wore. He got distracted then by admiring the curves of Nick’s ass until someone grabbed his waist and pressed up against his back. Logan looked over his shoulder in surprise to see the waiter who had brought him his drinks beaming at him.

“Good for you, sweetie!” the boy said happily, pressing closer to kiss Logan soundly on the cheek. “Enjoy yourself!”

The waiter patted his ass familiarly and then hurried off into the crowd again, leaving Logan to continue after Nick, wondering what he’d done to make that kid like him so much.

Nick was waiting at the door and looking amused, leading the way out into the comparable quiet of the parking lot before he teased, “Got an admirer, huh?”

Logan chuckled. “Seems that way, but I sure dunno why.”

Nick smirked. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

Logan laughed and pulled on his jean jacket as he started towards his bike, which was parked with well over a dozen others right in front of the club under the doorman’s watchful eyes. The other bikes were actually one of the main reasons Logan had finally gone in, since he figured with so many bikes there had to be other bikers inside. He hadn’t realized that most of them belonged to women until he had been inside a while and finally noticed the group of butch bikers who had staked out the corner of the club between the bar and the restrooms. “Nope, just not seeing whatever a kid like that might see in someone like me.”

Nick followed him towards the bikes, amused. “I’m not sure if you just told me I have bad taste or not.”

Logan swung onto his old Harley, the beefed-up suspension he’d given the bike making it seem like he didn’t weigh any more than the next guy despite the fact he weighed a good five hundred pounds. He flipped up the kickstand and then looked at Nick with a grin. “Well, you did make a move on me. That ain’t a sterling recommendation for you havin’ especially _good_ taste. I don’t clean up near as pretty as half the guys in there.”

Nick moved to a new-looking candy apple red Honda further down the row of bikes, pausing by it as he smiled at Logan. “Maybe I was looking for something a little harder to find than a pretty face.”

Logan watched Nick settle onto the bike, surprised but pleased. “Thanks.”

Nick kick-started his bike, grinning at Logan. “It’s not far to the bar I told you about.”

Logan started the Harley, loving the deep-throated roar of the engine, and then waved towards the road. “Lead the way.”

Nick didn’t wait for a second invitation, guiding his bike backwards out of the row of bikes and then driving slowly towards the parking lot’s exit to give Logan time to do the same. Logan backed out of his parking spot and then turned his Harley after Nick’s Honda, amused because he had been sure the Honda was a lady’s bike when he went into the bar. Nick glanced back to be sure he was following and then sent the little Honda leaping forward out onto the nearly empty highway that ran in front of the club.

Logan gunned his Harley to follow, grinning as he realized he was looking forward to relaxing for a while and maybe finding out just how interested in him Nick was. He hadn’t done anything with a man, not that he remembered at least, but he had noticed quite a few over the last few months that he _wanted_ to do something with.

The women he went home with just hadn’t been what he was after recently, no matter how much he enjoyed himself with them at the time. He couldn’t really put what was missing into words or even sort it out in his own head, but after the sex was over it left him feeling unsettled and unsatisfied every time. All he had wanted was to get out of their bedrooms without making an ass of himself and to get on the road and as far away as he could. He wasn’t sure if it would be any different with a man or not, but he figured it was about time to find out.

Logan followed Nick for a little over two miles further into St Louis and then they turned onto a side road that led out of town again. They had gone about four miles when Nick turned again onto a narrow two lane road that looked like it got a lot of traffic despite the fact there wasn’t much at all along the road but trees. Logan was just beginning to wonder where they were going when they rounded a curve and he spotted a neon sign that said ‘Rogan’s Bar and Grill’ and pointed down a gravel driveway.

Nick turned down the drive and Logan followed him through a thick stand of trees until they suddenly emerged into a dusty gravel parking lot that held a huge old log cabin. The cabin had been remade into a bar, and was surrounded by a few cars, around a dozen pickups, and twice that many bikes that were lined up along the front of the bar. There was a driveway marked private leading further into the trees next to the bar, and a huge black iron smoker on the other end of the building was giving off the heady scents of serious barbecue. Logan could hear older rock music coming from inside the bar, but only faintly, which made him smile. The last club had been loud enough to make it uncomfortable for his keen hearing, so a quieter bar in the sticks would be a welcome change.

Logan parked his bike next to Nick’s at the end of the row of bikes, inhaling again before he gave Nick a wide grin. “This’ll be worth the ride just for that barbecue if it tastes half as good as it smells.”

Nick laughed and nodded, getting off of his little Honda. “Every time.”

Logan stayed where he was a minute, grinning as he looked at Nick’s bike and unable to resist it anymore. “What’s with the riceburner, anyway? Lose your bike in a bet?”

“My riceburner’ll outrun that old hog any day,” Nick replied quickly, laughing. “I’ve made a lot of money off of guys on hogs who thought power and speed are the same thing.”

Logan snickered and finally dismounted his bike. “Not the same thing at all, but you’re forgettin’ some bikes have both.” He looked at his bike, taking in the sleek midnight blue paint and new black leather seat and matching saddlebags that all just set off the spotless chrome he had spent many an hour restoring. He finally lifted his gaze again and smirked at Nick as he patted the gas tank of his bike, adding smugly, “Especially ones that have been rebuilt from the frame out like my baby has. She’s outrun everyone I ever needed her to.”

Nick grinned. “Most hogs won’t, though.”

Nick turned to start towards the door of the bar and Logan snickered as he moved to follow, nodding to a couple who were coming out the door. The man glanced at Nick and then gave Logan a knowing look with more than a hint of disgust in it, and Logan’s eyes narrowed as his friendly expression faded into a frown. The man’s wife grabbed her husband’s elbow and hurried him along before the man could say anything, and after an annoyed glance back at the man Logan tried to put them out of his mind as he looked forward again.

Nick had paused by the door to wait for him, and he gave Logan a resigned look as he murmured, “Better get used to that, the regulars here know I’m gay and this _is_ Missouri. Things aren’t as bad here as they are in the smaller towns, but being gay’s still not anything most folks approve of.”

Logan reached out to push open the door with one hand, moving his other hand to Nick’s back to push him inside. “They better not start mouthing off around me, or I’m gonna be payin’ for using their faces to bust up a perfectly good bar.”

Nick let himself be guided through the entryway and into the restaurant side of the bar, looking a little surprised as he waved to Mike Rogan, who was tending bar as usual. The building was divided inside by the double bar where Mike worked, separating the bar and dance floor in the right half of the old log building from the restaurant in the left side and making it easy for Mike to watch everything. The kitchens were to the far left, but instead of a solid wall to close it off from the restaurant there was another bar where people could sit and watch their food prepared if they wanted to.

“It’s just words, Logan, or looks,” Nick said quietly after a moment. “It’s not like anyone’ll try and kick our asses for it or something. Not here.”

“I ain’t tellin’ them what I think of what they do in bed, and they’d better show me the same courtesty,” Logan said firmly as he looked up into Nick’s eyes, not bothering to try and be quiet. He thought it was better to let Nick know where he stood from the start, and he wouldn’t let anyone treat him like a second-class citizen. “I don’t go around askin’ for a fight, but I damn sure won’t turn tail and run from anyone.”

Nick just looked at Logan for a long moment and Logan was still, waiting. He knew he looked rough and tough as an old boot, especially in the worn denim and flannel he was wearing at the moment, and he had used it to his advantage more than once. Most of the time people would take one look at him and decide they’d rather leave him alone, and the few that didn’t were easy to teach a lesson to. If Nick wasn’t looking for the kind of guy who wasn’t afraid to stand up and fight for what he believed, Logan would rather know so he could ride out.  Well, after he had some dinner, anyway. The barbecue smelled too good to leave without trying it.

Nick’s gaze finally settled on Logan’s chest. “Military?” Nick asked, seeming a bit surprised, and Logan glanced down to see his dog tags were hanging outside his shirt again

Logan tucked the tags back into his shirt, shrugging one shoulder as he met Nick’s gaze again. “Yeah, but nothin’ I can talk about.” Mostly because Logan didn’t remember a bit of it, but he wasn’t about to tell that to anyone he had just met.

Nick looked into Logan’s eyes a moment, smiling slightly, then turned suddenly to head towards an empty booth in the restaurant side of the bar and grill. “Not many military men who swing my way.”

“More’n you think,” Logan said, following Nick and feeling amused.

Nick took a seat in the booth, giving Logan a grin. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, lips twitching into a smile as he tried to relax again. “I wasn’t the only one, I promise.”

Nick laughed as a tall brunette waitress walked up to their table with two beers, beaming. A nametag on the waitress’ blouse said her name was Patty, and she looked to be about twenty or so, bubbly and cheerful as she said, “Hey Nicky! Who’s your friend?”

Nick looked up at the waitress, taking one of the beers with a pleased grin. “Hey girl. This is Logan, he’s passing through and wanted to know where the best barbecue in town is.”

Patty turned her attention to Logan, still beaming. “It so is! Mike’s been to Memphis in May and made the top ten twice!”

Logan grinned up at Patty, brown eyes sparkling. “Well then, what’re you waitin’ on, darlin’? We’re starved.”

Patty giggled and reached over to swat at Logan’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t call me darlin’! My name’s Patty.” She pulled a notepad out of her apron pocket and looked expectantly at them. “What’ll it be? We’ve still got some of everything in the smoker right now, so you can take your pick.”

Logan glanced around for a menu on the table, but there wasn’t one so he looked questioningly at Nick. “What’s good?”

“Everything,” Nick replied promptly, grinning. “I’m partial to the pulled pork and the beef ribs, but the pork baby-backs and the brisket are great too.”

“Don’t forget the barbecued chicken,” Patty added, grinning. “It’s my favorite.”

Logan looked up at Patty again, smirking. “Yes, please. That all sounds good.”

Patty giggled. “How about a full spread combo, then?  That’s some of everything with a side of barbecued beans and some potato salad. Then if you want you can order more of what you liked best.”

“Sounds great,” Logan agreed, nodding. “And iced tea, please. One beer’ll be plenty.”

“Sweet or unsweet?” Patty asked, surprised but looking pleased.

“Unsweet,” Logan said immediately, “and some lemon wedges if you got’em.”

“Gotcha.” Patty jotted down the order even as she glanced at Nick, adding, “And for you, Nicky?”

“Pulled pork and a half rack of beef ribs with a side of potato salad,” Nick said, smiling.

“And a Dr Pepper to drink,” Patty finished for him, grinning. “You’re predictable as a clock, Nicky.” She reached out to ruffle his hair as she turned away from the table. “I’ll be back in a few.”

Nick made a face as she walked off, reaching up to smooth his hair back, and Logan chuckled softly. “A friend, I gather?”

“Cousin, actually,” Nick admitted, smiling. “That’s how I found out about the barbecue. I live on the other side of town and only come out this way a couple times a month.”

“To go clubbing?” Logan asked, amused.

“Most times, yeah,” Nick agreed, nodding. “I hang around there until the dinner rush is over here, and then I come get dinner once the restaurant has slowed down.”

Logan glanced around at the restaurant side of the bar, which seemed pretty busy to him with only three or four tables empty, then looked at Nick again. “This is slow?”

Nick laughed. “Two hours ago there was a line out onto the porch waiting to sit down, and half the bar was full of restaurant patrons too. Give it another hour and this side of the building will empty out because they turn up the music on the bar side at nine. They usually run out of ribs by then anyway, so there’s not much left to serve besides burgers and whatever Patty can throw on the grill to cook in a hurry while the cook, Tony, takes over the bar. From nine till midnight Mike’ll be busy seasoning the meat for tomorrow, then the kitchen closes altogether and Tony heads home to catch some sleep. Mike does last call at three so he can load the smokers before he leaves at four, and then it all starts over again at noon.”

Logan grinned. “That’s one way to be sure they have time to get stuff ready for tomorrow. Just stop feedin’ folks.”

Nick snickered and nodded. “Seems to work.” He paused and then asked, “So you don’t like beer, huh?”

“I like it okay,” Logan replied, a bit surprised by the abrupt change of subject. “Just not in the mood for it tonight. Why?”

“I noticed the way you were putting away tequila at the club,” Nick explained, amused. “I figured you were wanting to get drunk, but you won’t do that on tea.”

Logan laughed. “I can’t remember ever gettin’ drunk in my life. Tequila might as well be water for all the buzz I get.”

Nick blinked, laughing slightly. “Wow. I’m not sure if I should envy you or not.”

“Mostly depends on whether or not you like gettin’ drunk, I’d think,” Logan took a sip of his beer and then added, “Sometimes it’s more a curse than anything else.  I wouldn’a minded gettin’ a little drunk tonight. Might’ve made things easier.”

“Easier?” Nick asked, curious and interested.

Logan’s lips twitched. “Yeah. That kid waitin’ tables spotted me as bein’ new to that kind of thing right off the bat, so I figure you likely did too.”

“New to clubbing, yeah,” Nick agreed, looking surprised. “You mean new to the whole idea though, don’t you?”

“Figured you for a smart guy,” Logan said with amusement, taking another drink of his beer.

Nick watched him until Logan put the beer down again, looking serious as he asked, “So what, is this an experiment or something? One trip on the wild side to see what it’s like?”

“No,” Logan replied, meeting Nick’s gaze. “I’ve been playing the other side of the field long enough to know that’s not what I’m after, and I’m tired of not going after things I want just ‘cause folks expect different of me.”

“Things, or people?” Nick asked softly, searching Logan’s eyes for something.

“Both,” Logan said, smiling.

Nick smiled too. “And are you going after me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Logan asked, smiling a bit wider.

“Maybe you’re just after the barbecue,” Nick said then, teasing.

Logan grinned. “Barbecue an’ then you was my plan, if you like the idea.”

Nick laughed, pleased. “That could be arranged.”

Logan grinned a bit wider. “Good to know.” He paused slightly and then added, “Just so we’re on the same page, you know I’m riding out in the morning, right?”

“I figured,” Nick agreed, nodding. “That doesn’t bother me.”

“Good,” Logan said, pleased. He noticed Patty heading towards them and turned his head to watch her carrying their order, eyes widening a bit as he blurted, “Good lord, she’s bringin’ enough to feed an army!”

Nick laughed. “You say that now, but I bet we eat it all.”

Patty grinned at Logan as she stopped at their table, starting to unload her tray as she teased, “You’d better eat it all, or Mike’ll come give you hell for wasting good barbecue.”

Logan inhaled deeply, looking down at the huge platter of food in front of him, then grinned at Patty. “I guess it’s a good thing I skipped lunch then, huh?”

Patty giggled. “Yep!” She grinned at Nick as she added, “I like this one, Nicky. You oughta keep him.”

Nick blushed, laughing. “Maybe he doesn’t want kept, Patty.”

Patty looked at Logan. “Aww, why not?” She grinned impishly. “I’ve always thought it’d be kind of fun to be kept.”

Logan snickered. “Mostly because I’m riding out in the morning. I got stuck in a snowstorm last week, an’ that was all she wrote. I’m headin’ south for the winter.”

“Yankee,” Patty teased, laughing.

“Just don’t call me a damn yankee and we’ll get along fine,” Logan countered, grinning.

“Yeah, everyone knows the difference between a yankee and a damned yankee,” Nick said then, laughing.

Patty grinned widely. “A yankee will go home.”

Logan smirked, reaching for one of the beef ribs on his plate. “An’ I’m just a yankee on vacation. I’ll head north again in the spring when I won’t freeze my ass off, ridin’ my bike.” He took a bite of the rib and then made a low happy noise.

Patty giggled and patted Logan’s shoulder. “It’s all that good, so enjoy. You won’t find anything near this good down south.”

Logan swallowed and gave her an amused smile. “You’re tryin’ to get me to stay, huh?”

“Snow’s forecast for next week,” Patty countered, grinning. “You might freeze your ass off, and then Nicky’d hurt me. He’s definitely an ass man.”

Logan just laughed as Nick blushed and asked pointedly, “Patty, don’t you have _work_ to do?”

Patty laughed. “Yep!” She turned away without another word and headed towards one of the other tables to se if they needed anything, leaving Nick and Logan alone.

Nick was still blushing as he dug into his dinner, and Logan watched him with a bit of a grin as he went back to eating. The food was as good as Nick had promised, the best barbecue Logan had eaten since he went through Memphis a few weeks back, and it was no hardship to eat and give Nick a little while to recover from that last zinger. Logan hadn’t really thought about his own ass and how it might appeal to another man, mostly because he didn’t ever see it, but he resisted the urge to tease Nick or fish for whether or not Nick liked his ass in particular.

The way things were going, Logan figured he’d find out for himself before too much longer.

 

~*~

 

Logan put his bare feet on the floor and reached for his jean jacket, fishing the stub of his last cigar out of the chest pocket and sticking the butt of it in his teeth as he looked around for his jeans.

“Here.”

Logan looked over his shoulder at the other man in the bed, giving the leggy blond a slight smile when he saw the guy was holding out his Zippo. “Thanks.” He took the lighter and lit his cigar, leaning to tuck the lighter into his jean jacket before he settled back against the headboard to look at the guy again. “You don’t mind if I smoke, right?” he asked, belatedly realizing he probably should have asked.

The blond dropped Logan’s jeans back in the floor and then rolled to his side facing Logan, propping his head up on one hand as he smiled. “If I did, I wouldn’t have gotten your lighter.”

“Good point,” Logan murmured, chuckling softly as he took a slow puff of his cigar, savoring the taste.

The blond just watched him for a moment, smiling, and then said softly, “You know, I don’t think you even told me your name.”

“Logan.” Logan smiled at the blond, brown eyes twinkling. “And you are?”

“Greg,” the blond said, laughing. “We really didn’t say a whole lot, did we?”

“Eh, talkin’ is over-rated,” Logan replied, smirking slightly. “You got your point across, that’s what matters.”

Greg grinned and looked kind of pleased with himself. “And you liked what you see.”

Logan gave him a slow inspection, smirking as his gaze roamed from Greg’s full, slightly bruised lips down his smooth chest over the firm belly and rather nice dick to long legs that seemed to go on for a mile. “Still do,” he said finally, dragging his gaze back to Greg’s eyes. “But you know how pretty you are so there ain’t no reason for me to tell you again.”

Greg preened slightly. “I _am_ too sexy for my shirt.”

Logan laughed. “Alright now, if you’re gonna start spoutin’ bad lyrics, I just might have to go after all.”

Greg laughed cheerfully and then teased, “You weren’t complaining when you stopped your bike.”

“I still ain’t complainin’ about you not wearin’ a shirt,” Logan countered, grinning. “I was complainin’ about that god-awful song.”

“It’s not that bad,” Greg said, snickering a bit as he brushed shaggy golden hair back out of his eyes.

Something began beeping suddenly then, making Logan look towards the sound in surprise. He had just pinpointed the sound to Greg’s leather pants when the bed shifted as Greg got up. He watched Greg move gracefully around the bed to retrieve a slim purple beeper from the pocket of his pants as he asked, “Anything important?”

Greg barely glanced at the beeper as he turned off the beep, smiling at Logan. “Just Robbie, making sure I’m okay.” He dropped the leather pants to move back around the bed with the beeper, asking, “Am I heading back to the corner, or what? I should let him know soon.”

Logan’s cheerful mood faded away as he just looked for a moment at the young blond he had wanted the moment he saw him, despite the fact Logan couldn’t remember ever paying for sex before. “Up to you, kid,” he said quietly.

Greg put the beeper on the bedside table as he climbed onto the bed next to Logan, surprised by his sudden change of mood. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I’m not kickin’ you out of my bed, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Logan replied.

Greg looked at Logan, eyes widening slowly before he asked hesitantly, “You _did_ realize that I’m a rentboy, right?”

Logan snorted a soft laugh. “Yeah, I knew that, kid. I got the money to pay for a full night, if you want to stay. If you don’t, then I’m not gonna argue with you.”

“That bad, huh?” Greg half-asked, moving off of the bed again to start gathering his clothes, his earlier cheer forgotten.

Logan frowned, sitting up and watching Greg retrieve a skimpy leather vest as he said quickly, “I didn’t say that. I’m just not gonna tell you that you have to stay. I don’t want anyone in my bed that’d rather be somewhere else.”

Greg bent to grab his thong and then straightened up to look at Logan, confused. “Do you want to fuck me again?”

“You haven’t turned into someone else in the last hour,” Logan pointed out, “at least, not that I noticed.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Greg asked, even more confused and frowning a bit.

Logan sighed, taking his cigar out of his mouth and looking down at it. “Kid, you’re still the pretty, leggy blond that made me pick up a hooker for the first time in my life.” At least, the first time he could remember, which he figured counted. Logan had gone through a lot of first times since the man he used to be died on that island. He looked back up at Greg, adding pointedly, “You’re the sexiest guy I’ve seen in a hell of a long time, so yeah. I still want you. What I don’t want is anyone in my bed that’s just stayin’ there because they feel like they have to. If you want to walk, I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

Greg just frowned at Logan a moment before he said abruptly, “I can’t just stay. Robbie’ll expect me to charge a lot for a whole night.”

“Toss me my jeans.” Logan waited for Greg to throw his jeans to him, the tugged the wallet out of his back pocket and opened the billfold, asking, “How much will he expect?”

“I usually get three hundred for the whole night,” Greg said softly, still confused.

Logan thumbed through the stack of bills in his wallet and then pulled out everything but two twenties, offering most of what he had to Greg. “There’s four and change.”

Greg didn’t make a move to take the money, protesting, “That’s too much—“

“Tell him I paid extra because you’re just that good,” Logan said firmly, cutting him off. “Take it.” Greg reached out to take the money, and then Logan asked, “Now, do you want to stay or not?”

Greg blinked, looking down at the money in his hand and then back at Logan. “You just paid me for the night.”

“No, I just gave you the cash to keep Robbie off your back,” Logan corrected. “That doesn’t mean I expect you to stay.”

“You’re crazy,” Greg said slowly, looking confused and a little lost. “You’d give me this much money and then watch me walk out right now?”

“If that’s what you want. It’s just money,” Logan said, dropping his jeans in the floor on his side of the bed as he settled back against the headboard again. “I can get more the same way I got that. There’s always some redneck asshole willin’ to bet he can kick my ass, especially if I flirt with him a little first.”

“But you just paid me to stay the night,” Greg repeated softly.

The lost, confused look in Greg’s blue eyes made Logan sigh, suddenly feeling old. “I gave you that, kid, but if it makes you feel better to think I paid you to stay, then I guess I did.”

Greg dropped his clothes and moved to the side of the bed, laying the money on the bedside table with the beeper and then sitting down with one foot tucked under him, his back to the foot of the bed as he looked at Logan. “You’re really not very good at this,” he said after a moment, looking a bit confused but smiling slightly. “Hiring a hooker, I mean.” He tilted his head, asking, “Is this really your first time?”

Logan snorted, giving Greg a wry little smile. “With a hooker, yeah.” He paused and then added truthfully, “Third time with a guy.”

Greg blinked and then let out a laugh, finally relaxing again. “Oh honey, I didn’t realize. No wonder you’re so out of sorts.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “Is that a hint that I need lessons or somethin’?”

“In how to pay a hooker? Yes,” Greg replied, grinning. “You suck at it, and not in the good way.” He smirked. “Though, you’re good enough at sucking cock that I thought this was all old hat to you.”

Logan shook his head, amused. “Not even. I picked up a guy in St Louis a month ago, and there was a bouncer in Alabama a couple weeks back, but that’s it.”

“Damn,” Greg said, laughing softly. “You’re a natural born cocksucker.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Logan said, chuckling slightly.

“You should.” The beeper began to beep again and Greg looked towards it, then back at Logan as he asked, “Do you want me to stay?”

“I told you I do,” Logan said patiently, “but only if you want to be here. If you don’t, take the cash and have a night off on me.”

Greg looked at him a moment and then turned away, reaching for the beeper to turn it off and then picking up the phone. He dialed and then waited only a moment before Logan heard someone pick up on the other end.

“Gregory?” a deep, very male voice asked, and Logan could hear how worried the man sounded. “Is that you?”

“Yeah Robbie, it’s me,” Greg said, not looking at Logan. “I’m fine, we were just a little busy.”

“Still?” Robbie asked, surprised. “That biker looked like he was just your type kiddo, but damn.” He paused, and then asked, “Are you staying?”

Greg nodded even though he was on the phone, making Logan smile slightly. “Yeah, I am. He paid for the whole night.”

“Alright,” Robbie said, sounding pleased. “Enjoy yourself, and call me when you leave there in the morning. I’ll meet you for breakfast.”

“I will,” Greg promised. “Night.”

“G’night kid,” Robbie said, and then he hung up with a click.

Greg hung up the phone, looking at Logan. “Robbie doesn’t expect to see me until breakfast.”

“Are you staying?” Logan asked, still smiling slightly. That Robbie guy might be a pimp, but it had sounded to Logan like he actually cared about Greg so it couldn’t be too bad for the kid. Logan knew enough about life on the streets to be sure the kid was safer with someone watching out for him, even in a city like Jacksonville. Greg was healthy and he didn’t look like he was being abused by anyone, so Logan figured it wasn’t his place to tell the kid how to live or try to fix him.

Greg nodded, nibbling on his lower lip, and then he murmured, “If you don’t mind.”

Logan held one arm out from his side in an obvious invitation, smiling. “Not even a little.”

Greg smiled and moved to settle against Logan’s side, sliding his arms around Logan’s waist as he murmured teasingly, “Maybe I _should_ give you lessons about how to treat a hooker, though.”

Logan snickered and gave Greg’s shoulders a squeeze, reaching with his other hand for the remote on the bedside table. “Nah, you’re no different than anyone else that’s ended up in my bed, you just didn’t expect dinner first.”

Greg laughed. “Good thing you don’t wear a hat, with an ego like that.”

Logan smirked, turning the TV on as he looked down at Greg. “It’s only ego if it’s all in my head, kid. I can’t remember the last time I wanted someone an’ they told me no.”

Greg snickered and reached for the remote, taking it from Logan to start flipping through the channels. “I guess I can believe that. You’ve got that whole broody biker thing going on.” He glanced up at Logan, grinning impishly. “It is pretty sexy, if you like that type.”

“And you do,” Logan pointed out, smirking.

“And I do,” Greg agreed, looking back at the television. “What is tonight anyway? I don’t remember.”

Logan laughed. “Sunday, at least for another hour or so.”

Greg snickered. “No wonder nothing’s on the local channels.” He pressed his thumb on the channel button, holding it down to breeze through a few dozen channels before he slowed again to see what he was passing as he asked, “Do you care what we watch?”

“Nah, not really,” Logan murmured, amused. “I was just gonna check the weather, see if I need to bring my bike in.”

Greg looked up at Logan, grinning. “The weather’s supposed to be good, but you still need to bring it in.  You’re in the bad part of town, and that’s a _nice_ bike.”

Logan snickered and patted Greg’s shoulder. “Let go then, an’ I’ll bring it in while you find something you want to watch.”

Greg sat up, still grinning as he said slowly, “I can think of something more fun to do than watching tv…”

Logan sat up, grabbing his jeans out of the floor and starting to pull them on as he looked over his shoulder at Greg, smirking. “Such as?”

Greg smirked. “Me.”

Logan laughed and stood, tugging the jeans up and then putting one knee on the bed as he leaned across it to kiss Greg soundly before he smirked at him. “Hold that thought.” He pulled away and headed for the door, not even bothering to button up his jeans as he headed out to get his Harley.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Walking into the bar, Logan hadn’t been looking for company. He had wanted nothing more than a beer and something to eat while he listened to a little music, and he had stopped at a nearly deserted biker bar on the edge of a small town thinking that there’d be less chance someone would hassle him. Going in a redneck bar on a Friday always ended in a fight, but in his experience – which was admittedly limited, but still counted – bikers would usually leave another biker alone, especially one as tough as Logan knew he looked.

Logan enjoyed kicking a little ass to pass the time most nights, or at least he had until recently, but that night the idea of having to fight his way back to his bike made him feel as old as he really was. He tried not to let the pointlessness of his current way of life get him down, but sometimes he wondered what it was he was looking for. He had no idea if he would ever find out why he felt like he had to keep moving, or even if he wanted to anymore. All he really knew was that staying put anywhere more than a few days always left him feeling trapped and agitated as a caged wolf, and the only relief he could find was to climb on his Harley and ride.

Still, that night Logan wasn’t feeling the need to ride on, quite the opposite in fact. He wanted to stop for a day or three and relax, maybe even take the time to find out where he was and if there was anything interesting happening in the area. He thought that he was in southwestern Alabama, but he’d wandered so much since the left Jacksonville two weeks ago that he wasn’t even sure of that much. He might have crossed another state line without noticing it, he knew. It had happened when he left Florida, and he was sure it would again sooner or later. He liked traveling on smaller highways that didn’t see a lot of traffic, and most of them had only a single small sign to mark state lines, if that.

Logan felt the uncomfortable itch of someone intently watching him just after the waitress came to take his order, and he casually glanced around the bar to see if he could spot whoever it was. He was surprised to realize there was more than one person looking at him with interest, but instead of making him worry as he might have another day, the inviting quality of the looks he was getting made him relax. He could handle drawing a little friendly attention, and wouldn’t mind if it led to him going home with one of the locals. It’d save him the price of a motel and he’d likely get laid out of the deal, which couldn’t be all bad. Most times, it wasn’t even a little bad.

He settled back into his booth with a slight smile, letting his gaze roam the sparse crowd again more slowly as he checked out his admirers. The pretty brunette by the bar who was giving him inviting looks caught his attention first, and he took a moment to enjoy her long bare legs and the tiny miniskirt she wore before his attention wandered again.  She was pretty, but he was willing to bet the ID she was carrying was fake. She didn’t look more than eighteen under all the makeup she was wearing, and that was really stretching it a bit.

Logan’s gaze settled next on a tough-looking biker at a nearby table who was looking at Logan like he was a juicy steak and the guy hadn’t eaten in a week. Logan’s frank appraisal lingered on the biker longer than on the brunette, long enough to make the other man’s lips quirk into a pleased little smirk, but then Logan shifted his gaze away before the biker would take his attention as an invitation. He liked the guy’s looks, but some instinct told him the man would want to top, and that just wasn’t happening.

There were three others who watched Logan, all women who were already sitting with men, but after meeting the gaze of each of them Logan finally realized that none of them were whoever it was he could still _feel_ staring at him. Someone was so concentrated on him that he could feel his or her gaze like someone was looking over his shoulder, and it made him feel more wary by the minute because he couldn’t spot the person.

Logan was distracted for a moment by the waitress bringing his beer and a thick rare steak the size of his spread hand with onions and mushrooms and a big bowl of gravy fries. He smiled as he flirted with her automatically, barely noticing anything about her other than her bright green eyes and bottle-blonde hair. She called him ‘hon’ and preened under the attention enough to make him feel a bit guilty as she moved on to another table. He hadn’t really meant what he was saying and wouldn’t take her home if she paid him to, so he hoped she hadn’t taken him seriously.

He settled in to eat while he stole more glances around the room, trying to find his unseen watcher. He had almost given up on it when his gaze finally settled on the bartender and he went still, remembering the same lanky kid telling him his name, months ago. The hair was a little longer and redder than Logan remembered, bleached lighter in a way that made him think the kid was getting outdoors more, but otherwise the kid looked very like he had on that island except for the fact the shirt he wore was a rich dark purple. The black dinner jacket would have been at home in a fancy restaurant a hundred years ago, but was a bit too much for a run-down biker bar and made the kid seem like an outsider.

The kid finished mixing the drinks he had been working on and passed them on to the waitress as he looked unerringly over at Logan again, and when he met Logan’s gaze he froze. He paled slightly at the way Logan was looking at him and then flushed as his chin lifted in challenge, and Logan couldn’t help a smile at the sight. The boy knew he was outclassed probably better than Logan did, but there was no back-up in him either and Logan had to respect that.

Logan took another bite of his steak and then looked up at the kid again, watching him fill another order for the waitress. The kid looked at Logan as soon as the waitress moved away and Logan smiled a bit wider, nodding towards the other side of his booth.

The kid went very still, watching Logan for a long moment, and then he moved to the waitress and murmured something to her. He didn’t seem to wait for a reply, instead walking around the end of the bar and heading towards Logan’s table.

“Remy made himself a new friend!” the tough biker who had caught Logan’s eye before said as the kid passed him, obviously teasing.

The kid laughed and gave the man a warm grin. “Or spotted an old one, Rafael. I don’t have many friends, but dat muscled-up hunk o’ hell on wheels be one.”

Logan laughed at the description of himself as he watched Remy approach, brown eyes twinkling. “I count as a friend, huh kid?”

“Except when you be callin’ me kid, yeah,” Remy replied, smiling as he sat down across from Logan. “What brings you here, Logan?” He grinned. “I don’t have a plane anymore.”

Logan blinked, bemused. “I don’t remember a plane.”

Remy’s grin faded into seriousness. “Still can’t remember anything?”

Logan took a drink of his beer and then shook his head, not meeting Remy’s gaze. “Not before the island.”

Logan’s reticence about discussing what went on at Three Mile Island was obvious and Remy reached over to touch his hand lightly. “Ain’t no wonder, not after dat head wound. You lucky to be alive.”

Logan glanced at Remy’s hand in surprise and Remy withdrew it quickly, then he lifted his gaze to Remy’s again to see Remy was blushing slightly. “Nah, seems to be mostly what I do.” Remy blinked and looked confused, so Logan explained, “Survive.”

Remy chuckled, lips twisting into a crooked smile. “And you do it well.” He paused slightly, looking into Logan’s eyes for a long moment before he said softly, “Better now than before, I think. I don’t see de demons in your eyes like they was when we met. Looks to me like you found some peace.”

Logan snorted, smiling slightly. “Easy to be at peace with yourself when you can’t remember anything. I don’t know much of anything about me these days, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Dat can be good. Sometimes I wouldn’t mind forgetting de things I done, or dat been done to me.”

Logan shook his head. “Don’t kid yourself.  It’s hell having no past except some pictures of people you don’t even know.”

Remy’s eyebrows rose. “Pictures?”

Logan nodded. “Found them at a burned-out cabin I wandered up to a few months ago. I’m in them, so I figure it must have been my place. I just don’t remember it.”

“Huh.” Remy looked at Logan a moment, thinking about how it would be to not remember anything about even himself, then he asked slowly, “Could I see them? Maybe I recognize someone for you.”

Logan gave Remy a measuring look and then nodded. “Worth a try.” He slid out of the booth, standing to pull the wallet he kept chained to his belt out of his back pocket and then sitting back down as he popped the snap on the billfold and pulled a half a dozen folded pictures from behind what cash he had. He unfolded the photos and then offered them to Remy as he said, “These were the most recent ones. The rest are on my bike.”

Remy reached for the photos, glancing at Logan’s face before he looked at the pictures. “This first one is de woman dat was there—“

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted softly. “I don’t remember her before that, though.”

Remy gazed at the photo of Logan looking so happy and holding the smiling, lovely woman, then flipped it over the read the back before he looked at Logan again. “I am sorry for dat, mon ami. She looks like a lady worth de remembering.”

“I get that feeling too.”

Remy could tell Logan wanted him to move on so he only glanced at the next photo of Logan with the woman named Kayla riding a horse before he turned to the next one and then went very still. The third photo was a group shot of Logan with Stryker, Victor, and most of the team of men who had first captured Remy, including the one he had seen dead in the alley the night he met Logan. Victor had an arm around Logan in the photo, both of them grinning and leaning into each other, and Remy could hardly reconcile that to the viciousness he’d seen Logan direct towards Victor in New Orleans. After a minute or two he looked up at Logan, not saying anything as he tried to gauge what Logan knew about the picture and the people in it.

“Spit it out, kid. I can tell you know them. I figure it was some kind of black-ops team I was in, but other than that…” Logan shrugged.  “You obviously know more than me.”

Remy nodded. “Seems I do.” He pointed to Victor. “Dat’s de man you were—“ He paused and looked around to be sure no one was listening, then met Logan’s gaze again and murmured, “You were there to kill. On de island.” He pointed at Stryker and added, “Him, too. He was in charge of a team dat hunted our kind to do experiments on them.” Remy swallowed, looking down at the photo, then amended almost silently, “Us.”

Logan stared at the photo too, frowning slightly. “I went there to _kill_ him?”

Remy nodded. “Sure did. You had tried to already at least once dat I saw, but…” He flushed and looked down at the table. “But I stuck my nose in dat time an’ he got away.”

Remy flipped to the next photo, wondering if he’d recognize someone else, and went still again at the sight of Logan and Victor together. Logan was standing very close to Victor with his hands on Victor’s waist, both of them in bloody, tattered old army uniforms. Victor’s arms were around Logan as if the picture had caught him pulling Logan closer, and the two men were looking at each other in a way that left no doubt what was going on between them, at least not in Remy’s mind.

Remy looked up at Logan again after a long moment, confused and frowning.

“Don’t ask me, kid,” Logan murmured gruffly, not meeting Remy’s eyes. “You know more than I do about him, I’m sure. You recognized him at least. I only know his name because it’s on the back of the pictures.”

“His name is Victor Creed,” Remy said slowly, still frowning. “He’s an evil sumbitch dat likes to hurt folk for fun.” He paused and then looked down at the photo again as he added very softly, “Likes to kill them, too, if he get de chance. Nearly killed me when he were through with me a few times, but Stryker wanted me alive.”

Logan looked at Remy for a long moment before he murmured softly, “Somehow I get the feeling you’re not talkin’ about him beatin’ you, Cajun.”

Remy glanced up to met Logan’s gaze. “He did dat too, when de mood struck.” He paused, thinking about the photos that labeled Logan as ‘James’, and then he added very quietly, “He tol’ me I was lucky I reminded him of Jimmy, but dat I wasn’t near so much fun ‘cause I didn’t heal fast enough. Sometimes it weren’t so bad, de things he would do, but mostly I wished dat he’d just kill me an’ get it over with.”

Logan’s expression twisted with self-loathing as he looked away. “Sick bastard.” He took a sip of his beer, wanting to wash the nasty taste out of his mouth even though it was purely psychological. He finally made himself look at Remy again and murmured quietly, “I’m sorry, kid. Sounds like I should have killed him a long time ago.” He snorted slightly and added, “And explains why thinkin’ about anyone callin’ me Jimmy makes my skin crawl.”

“If it helps, Logan fits you better.” Remy glanced down at the photo of Logan and Victor again, then turned it over to read the back as he added quietly, “An’ it don’t look like he was always such a bad man.” Remy looked up just in time to meet Logan’s gaze, seeing the surprise in Logan’s eyes. “He cared about you, mon ami. When de two of you fought like cats and dogs just before de island, you wanted to kill him so bad you couldn’ hardly think o’ anythin’ else, but he still looked at you like he cared.” He tapped the photo of Logan and Victor so many years ago, wondering just how old the man in front of him was. “An’ a blind man could see he loved you then.”

Logan looked at the photo for a moment and then looked away. “Maybe forgettin’ who I was ain’t so bad. I found a lot of pictures of me an’ him, goin’ back a long, long time. I kept that one in my wallet because…” He snorted. “Hell, I don’t know anymore. Maybe I was hoping I’d remember havin’ someone who gave a damn if I lived or died.” He paused slightly and then murmured, “Now I’m just wonderin’ where I can burn ‘em.”

“Perhaps dat would be a bad idea,” Remy said quietly. “If you do remember how it was, you might wish for them back.”

Logan looked at Remy, making an effort to be quiet as he said sharply, “I’m not gonna want photos of me an’ some sadistic bastard who raped you or anyone else just because he could. I don’t remember much at all, but I know myself well enough to know that.”

Remy met Logan’s gaze for a moment, seeing the truth of that in Logan’s eyes, and then he smiled slightly and picked up the photo of Logan and Victor. “Then say de word, mon ami, an’ this one at least will be gone.”

“Please,” Logan replied quickly.

Remy reached for the ashtray at the back of the booth with his free hand even as his eyes flared red and then the fingertips that were still holding the photo began to sparkle and glow. “Consider it forgotten.” The photo flared and then Remy’s eyes abruptly shifted back to their normal dark hazel as he dropped the burning photo into the ashtray.

Logan watched the photo burn until nothing was left but ashes and then he lifted his gaze to meet Remy’s, having missed the change in Remy’s eyes completely. “Neat trick.”

Remy smirked, passing back the other photos without looking at them. “Dat was nothing, Logan. You should see what I can do with a walking stick.” He winked and then stood as he added impulsively, “My shift ends at six, if you wanna wait. We could go to my place an’ talk while I make dinner, see what else I can tell you ‘bout de things you forgot.”

“Sure you want to trust me that far, kid?” Logan asked while he tucked the photos back into his wallet, smiling slightly even though he was serious. If he had run around with people like Victor and Stryker before he lost his memory, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know that man he had been. He couldn’t fathom why Remy didn’t seem to hold it against him, especially since Victor had hurt the kid repeatedly in Logan’s place.

“You earned it on de island, mon ami,” Remy said simply, giving him a smile that went all the way to Remy’s dark eyes. “You risked your life to put an end to dat place an’ save de kids dat was held there. Dat’s all I need to know to trust you’re gonna do de right thing.”

Logan smiled back, relaxing slightly even though he didn’t really know what Remy was talking about. “I’ll be here, then.” He smiled wider. “Maybe have a couple more beers while I wait.”

Remy grinned. “De cook makes a pecan pie dat’ll make your tongue slap your brain out.”

Logan laughed. “And definitely some of that pie.”

“Pie an’ another beer it is,” Remy said as he headed back towards the bar. “Maggie’ll bring de pie when you finish dat steak.”

Logan watched him go, grinning, and then finally went back to his dinner, barely noticing that it was getting cold. Breakfast had been a cup of coffee and a biscuit a hell of a long time ago, and he was hungry as a bear in spring.

 

~*~

 

Remy went into the kitchen as soon as Floyd walked in the front door, going straight to the small storeroom where he usually left his duster hanging on a convenient nail. He was just shrugging into the heavy leather coat when the cook, Mitchell, started towards him. Mitchell was a mutant that could tell the temperature of any liquid or solid just by touching it, which made it easier for him to be a good cook but wasn’t really very useful otherwise, at least according to Mitchell.

“What’s the story on that biker?” Mitchell asked quietly. He had been out to hand orders to Maggie several times, and he had seen Remy at Logan’s table during a slow stretch, talking. Remy hardly ever socialized with the patrons, even the ones he liked, so Mitchell was sure there was a story there.

Remy closed the storeroom as he turned to look at Mitchell, smiling when he saw the concern on Mitchell’s pale, angular features. “Jus’ an old friend. Why d’ you ask?”

“He looks dangerous,” Mitchell said, frowning slightly as he took off his backwards baseball cap and smoothed back his shaggy blond hair.

Remy recognized the gesture as one he’d seen often when Mitchell was nervous or upset, but still he chuckled softly. “He is dat, just not dangerous to me. Logan, he’s someone I can count on when de chips is down. He’s watched my back before when times was rough.”

Mitchell looked skeptical as he put his hat back on, tucking the hair over his ears neatly into the cap as he said softly, “He looks a lot tougher than the rednecks you handle so easy, Remy. If you’re wrong he could mess you up pretty bad.”

“He’s de toughest man I’ve ever known,” Remy agreed, smiling as he reached out to pat Mitchell’s shoulder. “But don’t worry so, mon ami. I can take care of myself, even with Logan. I won’ need to, understand, but I can.”

“If you’re sure,” Mitchell said doubtfully.

Remy grinned. “Sure as I am of anything.”  He moved towards the door that led back to the bar, effectively ending the conversation.

Mitchell moved back towards the battered wooden prep table to get ready for the dinner crowd, which would be coming in any minute. The seafood cannery in the next town that employed half the county often ran six days a week, but it shut down at five-thirty every evening to avoid paying too much overtime. “You coming by later?”

Remy paused at the door, shaking his head as he looked back at Mitchell. “No, I don’t expect Logan’ll be in de mood for it. I’ll be in tomorrow for my shift.”

“Alright, see you then,” Mitchell said, still obviously worried but willing to keep his peace on the subject.

“I can take care of myself, mon ami,” Remy repeated, and then he smirked and added, “An’ anything I run into tonight dat I can’t handle, Logan will make them wish dat they never been born. He likes to fight, I just know enough to stay on de man’s good side.” Remy winked and disappeared back into the bar.

Mitchell went back to slicing onions so they’d be ready when he needed them next, wondering just what Remy’s relationship was with Logan that Remy would skip a night of playing poker to keep the biker company. Remy never missed a chance to fleece the locals of their paychecks, especially not on payday.

 

~*~

 

Logan smiled when he saw Remy come back out of the kitchen, watching as Remy paused to talk to the bartender for a moment.

The big bald man who had the evening shift was a lot older than Remy with the burly build of someone who likely doubled as the bouncer when one was needed, and it was obvious that he and Remy didn’t get along well. Remy said something to the man and got a glare that made Logan get up and move towards the bar without even thinking about it. He’d paid his bill when he saw Remy head into the back so there was no reason for him to linger at his table, especially not when he didn’t like the way that bartender was looking at the lanky Cajun.

Remy said something else that Logan couldn’t hear, obviously making an effort to be quiet and reasonable, and the bartender’s glare shifted into something very like hatred.

“Go to hell, LeBeau,” the big man said angrily. “I do my job, you worry about doing yours!”

Remy sighed and gave up, turning his back on the other man and moving around the end of the bar. “Most days I get stuck doin’ your cleanup de next mornin’, Floyd, an’ you know it well as I do. I’m just askin’ you to wipe down de bar, at least. You leavin’ it wet every night is gonna ruin de finish.”

Floyd grabbed a bottle from under the bar and started after Remy like he might hit him with it, but before he could Logan growled, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you, bub.”

Floyd and Remy both stopped and looked at Logan in surprise, along with the few patrons who were near enough to hear him. “What business is it of yours?” Floyd demanded, hefting the bottle and drawing himself up to his full height. He was a few inches over six feet tall and looked like he could bench press a Volkswagen, and he obviously expected his sheer size to impress Logan.

Logan snorted, not at all impressed despite the fact Floyd was quite a bit taller than he was. “He’s a friend of mine, an’ I ain’t lettin’ no overfed coward like you hit him from behind.”

Remy’s lips twitched into a smile as he continued around the bar and went to join Logan. “Eh, forget him, mon ami. He’s not worth de bill for bustin’ up de bar.”

“You got that shot right,” Logan agreed, reaching out to put a hand on Remy’s back and guide him towards the door, ready to forget about Floyd. “Still don’t mean I’d let him get away with anything.”

Remy laughed even though he was a bit surprised by how Logan was treating him, wondering if the loss of Logan’s memory had also taken some of Logan’s inhibitions. He had tried flirting with Logan just before they went to the island, sure they were both about to die anyway so they might as well enjoy what time they had, and he had been politely but firmly told Logan didn’t swing that way. The photo of Logan and Victor made it plain that wasn’t true, and the way Logan was acting towards him made Remy fairly certain that Logan was interested in him in particular, which was welcome news.

“Floyd’s too slow to hurt me,” Remy said after a moment, “I was just waitin’ for de excuse to lay him out.”

Floyd scowled and slammed the bottle back down on the shelf he had taken it from, making bottles rattle under the bar. “Just get out!” he blustered angrily. “Faggots like you two ain’t welcome around here!”

Logan gave Floyd a narrow-eyed look and had just opened his mouth to reply when a woman called sharply from the door, “Keep it up, Floyd, and you’ll be the one leaving.”

Logan looked towards the voice in surprise, spotting the tall blonde woman who was walking towards them. She wore jeans and a man’s button-down shirt with worn, dusty boots, and unlike the other ladies hanging around the bar, she looked like she might actually work for a living.

Remy smirked at Floyd and said smugly, “Better listen to de boss, Floyd. She don’ put up with shit from nobody, not even you.”

The blonde snorted, amused as she stopped near Remy and Logan. “Or you, Remy dear.”

Remy gave the blonde his best innocent grin, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I wouldn’t dare give you trouble, boss. You de one makes out my paycheck.”

The blonde laughed and turned her attention to Logan, offering her hand to him. “Caroline Brody, pleased to meet you …?”

“I’m Logan,” Logan said, taking his hand off Remy’s back to shake the lady’s hand with a smile. Her handshake was firm, and Logan’s smile widened slightly at the feel of the calluses on her hands, wondering what she did to earn them. Somehow he didn’t think she worked that hard in the bar, not when she employed two bartenders, a couple of waitresses, and a cook.

“Call me Cary,” Caroline said, smiling a bit wider. “Any friend of Remy’s is a friend of mine.” She turned her attention back to Remy. “Don’t forget you’ve got the noon to six shift again tomorrow, Remy dear.”

“I won’ forget, cher,” Remy replied, moving to kiss Caroline’s cheek lightly with a grin. “I’ll even come in early an’ make you breakfast, if you wan’. How do beignets an’ good chicory coffee sound?”

“Lovely,” Caroline replied with a laugh. “See you then.”  She continued towards a door at the very back of the bar that said ‘private’ on it, giving Floyd a level look on her way by. “Get back to work, Floyd. You’ve got customers waiting and more on the way in.”

Remy smirked at the way Floyd flushed and went to fill a drink order for the waitress, and Logan gave Remy an amused look as he reached out to get him moving towards the door again. “Get movin’, you promised me dinner.”

Remy laughed and let Logan push him towards the door. “I promised _me_ dinner, mon ami. You just ate dat steak a bit ago.”

“That was my lunch,” Logan said cheerfully as he let his hand fall and followed Remy towards the door.

Remy laughed and led the way out of the bar, pretending not to notice the looks they were getting from a group of the regulars who were just coming in the door. He hadn’t ever been so bold about taking anyone home from the bar before and he knew the rumors would be flying, but he couldn’t really make himself care. It was no secret that he flirted as often with a man as with a woman, so no one would really be surprised. Whether the evening would really go the way the bar’s patrons would assume it did was none of their business.

Remy paused after they got outside to look questioningly at Logan, smiling as he asked, “Where’s your bike?” There were four bikes outside that he could see, three lined up along the front of the bar and one classic Harley that he thought was likely Logan’s, parked well away from the others. The old Harley reminded Remy a lot of the bike Logan had ridden to New Orleans the night they met, what seemed like years ago.

Logan gestured towards the bike in the shade of the old oak tree on the far side of the dirt parking lot. “Right over there. I’ll follow you to your place, if you don’t mind. I don’t wanna leave it.”

Remy laughed and started across the lot. “I walk to work, mon ami.”

Logan followed Remy towards his bike, grinning. “I guess that means I’m givin’ you a ride tonight.”

“Dat remains to be seen,” Remy said, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Logan with a definite invitation in his eyes. “We can start with a ride on dat ol’ Harley, an’ then we’ll see what happen from there.”

Logan’s eyebrows rose and he smirked. “It’s that way, huh?”

“For de right person, sometimes,” Remy said as he approached Logan’s bike, slowing to let Logan take the lead. He glanced sideways at Logan as the older man passed and he hid a grin at the pleased smirk on Logan’s face. His evening was definitely looking up.

“I always try to do the right thing,” Logan said as he swung a leg over his bike, and then he looked at Remy a bit more seriously. “At least, I do now. I dunno about that guy you knew before. Goin’ by the folks he hung out with, I don’t wanna know, either.”

Remy swung easily onto the bike’s raised rear seat behind Logan, looking down as he made sure his duster was safely away from the rear wheel. He lifted his gaze again only a moment later to smile at Logan as he murmured, “You did what was right before too, mon ami. I remember dat, even if you don’t.” He put his hands on either side of Logan’s waist, nodding towards the road that passed the bar as he added, “About half a mile out dat road away from town, you take a left just before we get to de big red barn feed store. My place is a mile from there, first turn on de right past a little bayou.”

Logan started the bike and revved the engine, smiling. “Got it.” He started the bike forward more quickly than was strictly necessary, grinning at the roar of the engine and the way Remy’s arms slid around his waist to hold on tighter to him. He wasn’t sure why it felt so good to flirt with the lanky Cajun, but he wasn’t going to pick it apart either. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable with anyone, literally, but he was sure of one thing.

If they did end up in bed together, Logan was sure he wouldn’t regret it in the morning.

 

~*~

 

Logan took another sip of his coffee spiked liberally with bourbon, and then he smiled and inhaled slowly as he watched Remy move around the large, old-fashioned kitchen. Earlier in the bar Logan hadn’t been able to completely sort out Remy’s scent from those around them, and he didn’t remember noticing how Remy smelled on the island, but once they were alone in Remy’s little house in the sticks Logan hadn’t been able to miss it. Remy wore some kind of cologne with vanilla and sandalwood in it, and beneath that was the clean scent of Remy himself, somehow warm and spicy and vibrantly alive. Logan could easily keep track of Remy’s state of mind just by inhaling while they were in the little farmhouse, and he got the side benefit of a chance to enjoy Remy’s unique scent.

Remy was humming quietly to himself while he gathered ingredients for dinner, but Logan didn’t think that he had realized it yet. The duster and the jacket were gone, as were Remy’s odd boots – when Logan commented on them, Remy had said they were retro goth, whatever that meant – and the lanky Cajun was padding around barefoot in the dark purple shirt that he had worn to work, tucked into tight black jeans.

The dinner jacket and the duster had both hidden more than they showed, and now that they were gone Logan was greatly enjoying the view. The jeans were definitely Logan’s favorite part of the unique outfit Remy had worn for the day. They left nothing to the imagination, especially when Remy bent over to dig in the bottom drawer of the fridge. Remy had a nice heart-shaped ass with just enough curve to it to fill a man’s hands, and Logan was more certain than ever that he wasn’t going to regret anything that might happen between them.

Remy glanced at the table as he put everything on the counter and then went silent as he caught Logan watching him. Remy retrieved a knife from a block on the counter and began efficiently chopping onions, not looking at Logan as he murmured, “Like what you see, hm?”

“You know I do,” Logan replied only a bit louder, enjoying the view as much as he enjoyed Remy’s scent, which had gone pleased and aroused. Logan had no doubt how their evening would end, not anymore, but he intended to enjoy the chase before they ended up in Remy’s bed. “Near as much as you like me lookin’.”

Remy was quiet for a moment as he finished the onion, then turned to put a large skillet on the ancient gas stove as he glanced over at Logan again, smiling. “You sound pretty sure of dat.”

Logan’s smile widened as he murmured, “Only because I am.”

Remy laughed softly and turned back to the counter to reach for a coffee can, removing the lid and then using a wooden spoon to scoop a generous dollop of bacon drippings into the skillet. “I could deny it, but I’d be lying.” He covered the can again and set it aside, letting the bacon grease in the skillet heat up as he looked into Logan’s warm brown eyes and murmured, “An’ you’d know if I did dat.”

“I would,” Logan agreed, smiling. “I can smell the truth, among other things.”

Remy just looked into Logan’s eyes a moment, smiling, and then turned to move the onions into the skillet. “I forgot to ask, is stroganoff alright with you?”

“I’m easy,” Logan said, smirking slightly.

Remy laughed, glancing at Logan again as the onions began to sizzle in the bacon grease. “So I noticed.”

Logan set his coffee down and stood, moving around the table towards Remy as he teased, “I’ve been noticin’ I’m not the only one here that fits, too.”

“I can be easy,” Remy agreed as he turned to lean back against the counter, “but only for de right man.”

Logan smirked and stopped right in front of Remy, but he didn’t reach out to touch as he asked softly, “You really in that much of a hurry to eat, Cajun?”

“I could stand to wait,” Remy admitted, smiling. “You got a good reason to, cher?”

Logan’s smirk turned a bit wicked as he reached over to turn off the stove. “I think you’ve got a good enough reason for both of us.” He stepped closer to Remy, leaning in close to murmur into Remy’s ear, “I can smell you gettin' hard for me, even if those jeans weren’t tight enough for me to see the proof.”

Remy purred softly, his hands moving to rest lightly on Logan’s waist as he murmured, “I can’t help it, not de way you been lookin’ at me.”

Logan nuzzled at Remy’s ear, pressing closer to feel Remy against him from knee to chest as his own hands settled familiarly on Remy’s hips, stroking over tight denim slowly. “An’ I can’t help wantin’ you when you look so damn good in those jeans.” He nibbled Remy’s earlobe, inhaling, and then breathed out softly, “An’ you smell even better.”

Remy made a soft noise and turned his head quickly to capture Logan’s lips with his own, trading one form of communication for another. Logan growled softly after a moment and deepened the kiss, keeping Remy between him and the counter as one hand palmed Remy’s ass while the other hand stroked up the back of Remy’s shirt, enjoying the feel of silk over firm muscle. Remy let out another low noise and pressed closer to Logan then, lifting one hand to tangle in Logan’s hair as the other splayed wide on Logan’s back to keep him close.

Logan had gotten laid more than a few times since he lost his memory, but kissing those people hadn’t felt like he did standing there in that rundown old kitchen kissing Remy. Remy felt like he belonged in Logan’s arms, acted like it was exactly where he wanted to be, and he tasted like a little bit of heaven spiked with bourbon. Logan savored every moment as his hands roamed slowly over Remy’s body, lingering and gentling the kiss when he might have pushed someone else to move more quickly towards sex. He was enjoying himself too much to even consider rushing things along.

They stood there kissing and touching for a long while before Remy finally pulled away to whisper breathlessly, “De bedroom’s just over there.” He licked his lips, his dark hazel eyes shining and hungry as he added softly, “I’m thinkin’ less clothes an’ a bed ‘d be good ‘bout now.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Logan purred, smirking slightly. He didn’t give Remy a chance to reply, slinging Remy over his shoulder to carry him quickly towards the only closed door in the house, sure it had to be Remy’s bedroom. The other two doors that led out from the main room were open, one to a tiny old bathroom with a claw-footed tub and the other to a room with a big fireplace and lots of bookshelves surrounding a chair that looked as comfortable as it was old. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Cajun.”

Remy let out a little strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “I can walk, cher, even with de way kissin’ you make my knees go weak.”

Logan’s smirk grew smug. “It’s more fun to carry you. That way I can do this.” He slid his free hand across the back of Remy’s thigh to settle between his legs, his thumb stroking along the cleft of Remy’s ass as his fingertips stroked Remy’s balls through tight denim, and the little whine Remy let out as his hips flexed against Logan’s shoulder was music to Logan’s ears.

“You don’ play fair,” Remy muttered, and Logan could almost see the pout he was sure was on the lanky Cajun’s face.

Logan could smell Remy’s amusement despite the aggrieved tone and he just chuckled, goosing Remy rather intimately before he moved his hand away to open the door to Remy’s bedroom. “Maybe not, but I promise you’ll enjoy it anyway.”

“Now dat I don’ doubt even a little bit,” Remy said, laughing slightly as Logan carried him into the bedroom, reaching out to push the door closed behind them.

 

~*~

 

Logan smiled and nuzzled into Remy’s sweaty hair, inhaling the heady mix of scents that Remy was putting out without ever knowing it, a combination of Remy’s own scent with sex and sweat and pure contentment. He had expected to enjoy himself with Remy, but he hadn’t expected to feel such a deep affection for the younger man.

Logan had been with more than a dozen women and several men that he could remember, and he hadn’t felt much for them beyond a sort of friendly lust that, when sated, usually left him wanting nothing more than to get on his bike and ride. The only exception to the rule so far had been the boy in Jacksonville, Greg, but even then Logan hadn’t looked back when he rode out the next morning. Greg had been good company and sexy as all hell, but there hadn’t been anything more there to make Logan want to see him again. If he was in Jacksonville again he might drive by Greg’s corner and see how the kid was doing, but that was about it.

Having sex with Remy was completely different, and Logan was more than a little surprised at how strongly he felt for the lanky Cajun afterwards. He didn’t quite understand it, but he wanted to keep Remy under a watchful eye or better yet in his arms. He didn’t remember ever feeling possessive of anything except his bike, but Remy made him want to hold on tight and tell anyone who looked twice at him to back off. There was no chance Logan would be riding out and leaving Remy in the morning, not unless Remy asked him to go.

Remy made a low noise somewhere between a hum and a purr, pressing a little closer to Logan’s chest as Logan’s arms tightened around him. He was half asleep and feeling wonderful, too comfortable to move and enjoying the feeling of being held by someone who cared about him. He was pleasantly sore and tired, and he knew he’d be feeling worse in the morning, but he couldn’t make himself care. The last hour had been worth every little twinge and ache he’d feel from abused muscles tomorrow, and then some.

Remy’s stomach growled suddenly, sounding loud in the quiet room, and Logan chuckled. “Somebody’s gettin’ hungry.”

“A bit,” Remy admitted with a smile, nuzzling Logan’s throat as he ran one hand across Logan’s back. “Not enough to wanna move, though.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Logan murmured, kissing Remy’s hair and then patting his bare hip lightly. “But you’re too skinny to be skippin’ meals. Let go an’ I’ll go make you some dinner.”

Remy let out a low groan and then sighed, pulling back enough to look at Logan. “No reason for me not t’ go do it if you’re gettin’ outta my bed, cher.” He leaned to kiss Logan, lingering to enjoy it when Logan responded warmly, and then he finally pulled away and added softly, “Might as well make it myself.” He smiled at Logan and then rolled away to get out of bed, looking around for his underwear.

Logan rolled to his back and tucked one arm behind his head, smiling as he watched Remy stand and walk around the bed towards the door, where Remy’s boxers lay in a puddle of black silk in the floor. “Don’t trust my cookin’, huh? Not even with a box mix?”

Remy glanced back at Logan with a little smirk. “I just trust mine more ‘cause I ate what I made before. Nothin’ personal.”

Remy bent to pick up the boxers and Logan made a little appreciative noise, watching intently as Remy stepped gracefully into the black silk that Logan had enjoyed taking off of him what seemed like hours ago. “Whatever makes you happy, babe. I don’t mind watchin’ you.”

Remy looked over at Logan again as he settled the boxers low on his hips, grinning just a bit at the endearment and Logan’s expression. “Dat’s an understatement if ever I heard one.”

Logan laughed softly and sat up, eyes twinkling as he teased, “Maybe I don’t want to scare you off.”

Remy reached for the doorknob, smirking. “Remy don’t scare dat easy, cher.”

Remy opened the door and headed into the kitchen to get dinner started again, a little amazed at how relaxed he felt. Memories of his past usually made it hard for him to trust any man being in his home, especially one that he knew could overpower him as easily as Logan could, but he didn’t feel that wary fear with Logan. When Logan had followed Remy into the run-down little farmhouse he rented from Caroline’s older brother, it had felt as comfortable and safe as it did when he came home any other day, but with the added benefit he didn’t have to be alone. He felt like he should probably be scared of how right it actually felt to have Logan there in his home and in his bed, but the simple fact was he liked it too much to worry too hard about why.

Remy had wanted Logan the first time they met and nothing he had ever seen or felt from the man had changed that. Logan had been a different man then, rough and angry at the world with little patience for anyone, including himself, and Remy felt a little guilty for how much more he liked the Logan he knew now. He shouldn’t be glad that Logan couldn’t remember his past, but the changes he saw in the man made it impossible for him to feel otherwise. The new Logan was just as strong and fearless as the one Remy had met months ago, but otherwise the man Remy had met before the island was gone, leaving behind a kinder, gentler version of Logan that captivated Remy even more than the original.

Remy’s carefully hidden empathy wasn’t something he ever talked about, but it wasn’t something he could ignore or forget, either. He felt the emotions of those around him whenever he relaxed his control over his gift, and it could easily overwhelm him if he let his guard down while he was near too many people. His little house was far enough from any neighbors that he seldom felt anyone else in the vicinity, so he had felt safe letting go of his hard-won control while he was in Logan’s arms.

Remy had felt many emotions in Logan during the last hour, more than enough for him to be sure of where he stood with Logan. The sincerity of Logan’s desire for him couldn’t be doubted, and Remy knew that the possessiveness and deep affection that Logan felt for him had surprised even Logan with its strength. There wasn’t any doubt in Remy’s mind that he was perfectly safe with the older man. Logan cared for him more than anyone Remy had ever had sex with before, and the fierce protectiveness Logan had felt at some stray thought made Remy feel safer than he had in a very long time.

Remy turned the gas burner back on under the skillet of congealed bacon drippings and half-cooked onions before he moved back to the cutting board by the old cast iron sink to start slicing the mushrooms.

No, Remy didn’t doubt Logan’s motives any more, if he ever really had, but his own feelings were enough of a mess that he wasn’t completely sure of what to do about them. He liked Logan, always had in fact, and he wanted Logan in just about every way he could think of, but there was a difference between desire and real feelings. He had decided years ago never to give his heart into another’s keeping, not for anything, and he wasn’t sure that he could survive trying to change that now. Remy was afraid that it would be all too easy for his wanting Logan to slide into _needing_ him, and that idea frightened him almost as much as it drew him.

Logan padded out of the bedroom wearing just his jeans, silent as a ghost, but Remy could feel him approaching so he wasn’t surprised when Logan’s arms slid around him from behind. Logan’s touch was gentle, the contact making it much easier for Remy to feel Logan’s contentment and relaxation, but Remy couldn’t relax into it the way he wanted to. The thought of how he’d feel when Logan rode back out of his life left him unsettled and unhappy as he realized it was already too late for him to try not to need the affection that Logan was offering so freely. He could lie to anyone else, but in the privacy of his own mind he couldn’t deny that he could think of nothing that he wanted more than to wake every morning in Logan’s strong arms, feeling safe and protected and yes, loved.

Logan kissed the nape of Remy’s neck, inhaling his scent again as he did so, and then he rested his chin on Remy’s shoulder. He pretended not to notice the tense way Remy held himself, wondering why Remy was unhappy and even a bit scared as he murmured softly, “Anything I can do to help, babe?”

Remy didn’t even think about it before he replied, slicing a mushroom deftly as he murmured, “You could tell me how long you’re plannin’ to stay, cher.”

Logan blinked, surprised, but a moment later Remy’s tense, unhappy worry made sense to him. “I guess that depends on you,” he said gently, just loud enough for Remy to hear him easily. “When I rolled into town I just wanted to stop a few days and relax somewhere quiet.”

“You’re welcome to stay dat long, cher,” Remy said softly, making an effort to keep his disappointment from showing in his voice or expression. He kicked himself for being stupid enough to want more as he added, “I got to work tomorrow, but I’m off de next two days.”

Logan was quiet for a few minutes, just holding Remy and watching Remy’s long, graceful hands make short work of the mushrooms as he tried to decide what to say. The last mushroom was in neat quarter-inch slices before he finally made a decision, hoping that he wasn’t making a mistake he’d live to regret. “I don’t have anywhere else I want to be,” he murmured finally, hesitating and a bit afraid of how Remy would respond as he added, “An’ I’m not in a hurry to leave anymore.”

Remy finally turned his head to look at Logan then, searching Logan’s eyes as he relaxed his control enough to feel even the slightest hint of emotion in Logan. “Are you sayin’ you’re gonna stay, cher?”

“I won’t say no if you ask me to stay on a while,” Logan said after a moment, and Remy would have seen the spark of hope in Logan’s eyes even if he didn’t feel it so strongly in Logan’s mind, mingled with the worry the older man felt.

“How long is a while?” Remy asked, looking back down to open the package of pork stew meat he intended to use in the stroganoff. With his formidable mental barriers down he could feel Logan’s emotions strongly enough that he didn’t really need to look at him, and he didn’t want Logan to see the tangled emotions he was sure were visible in his own eyes.

Logan’s arms tightened around Remy, gentle despite how tightly he held Remy to him, and Remy could feel Logan’s uncertainty and a hint of fear as Logan murmured, “Until you want me to leave, or I can’t stand sittin’ still anymore without hurtin’ someone. Whichever comes first.” He paused and then added even more softly, “An’ even then I just might try to get you to come with me.”

“I might like dat, I think,” Remy said, fighting the instinct that told him not to give away what he truly wanted. He could feel how relieved and pleased Logan was by his answer and then he realized he couldn’t deny how he felt, not when Logan would smell the lie. He turned his head to look at Logan again, and his last doubts faded as he looked into Logan’s eyes. “I never planned to stay here f’ever anyway,” he murmured, moving his hands to rest them on Logan’s muscular arms as he finally let himself lean back into Logan’s embrace, relaxing. He was surprised at how relieved he felt as soon as he decided to let himself trust Logan, but after only a moment he realized that it only made sense. He’d never been very good at denying himself anything he wanted, and he had been fighting how much he wanted Logan since he met him.

Logan smiled as he caught the scent of Remy’s relief, nuzzling Remy’s cheek as he murmured softly, “It’s settled, then. I’ll stay until we both go.”

“Mmm, seems that way,” Remy agreed as he turned in Logan’s arms just enough to be able to brush his lips against Logan’s in a soft kiss. The fierce joy that he could feel in Logan made him smile too as he added teasingly, “You can let go of me so I can cook now, cher. I ain’t gonna disappear on you.”

Logan grinned and kissed him again, then let go of Remy and moved towards the table to give Remy some space. “Only ‘cause you asked me to.”

Remy chuckled and reached for the skillet, holding it near the cutting board to add the pork to the caramelized onions as he teased, “Can’t stand to keep your hands off me, huh?”

Logan settled into the chair he had been in earlier, smirking slightly. “Do you really want me to?”

Remy set the skillet back on the burner and then looked over at Logan, grinning impishly and just letting himself enjoy the mingled pleasure he felt not only from Logan, but from himself. “Just until I got dinner in de pan to cook.”

Logan shifted into a more comfortable sprawl in the chair, beginning to look a bit smug. “I can wait if you can, babe.”

Remy looked back at the stove, reaching for the wooden spoon to stir the onions and pork with even as his other hand turned up the burner under the skillet. “Five minutes ain’t dat long.”

“I can stand anything for five minutes,” Logan agreed as he reached for his cold coffee, still smirking as he took in how pleased and relaxed Remy smelled and admired the way Remy’s muscles rippled under his smooth skin with every move. “Watchin’ you sure ain’t hard on the eyes.”

Remy moved to the cabinet to get down a box of stroganoff mix and a can of beef broth, smiling but not looking at Logan. “I could say de same about you, sittin’ there in them worn-out jeans an’ not a stitch more. Ain’t no wonder half de bar was droolin’ over you earlier.”

Logan laughed. “A few of ‘em, yeah, but not half the bar. An’ I’m still wearin’ more than you, not that I’m complaining even a little.”

Remy looked over at Logan on his way back to the stove, grinning a bit. “Dat’s why I rent a house out in de sticks. I can wander aroun’ buck naked when it suits me, an’ there ain’t no neighbors to complain.”

“Hallelujah,” Logan replied, smirking. “You go right ahead an’ do that whenever you want. I promise not to complain either.”

Remy snickered and opened the box of stroganoff. “Somehow I knew dat was what you’d say.”

“I am predictable that way,” Logan agreed, smirking still as he sipped his cold bourbon-laced coffee and watched Remy add the broth and the seasoning mix into the skillet.

Logan couldn’t remember ever being as happy as he was right that minute, or feeling as comfortable and at home as he did in there in Remy’s run-down old farmhouse, but somehow it still felt as familiar to him as his bike, and as necessary. It was almost as if he had been there before even though he couldn’t remember anything remotely similar. The pleasure and banked need Logan felt as he watched Remy cook seemed right to Logan even though it scared him a bit. He didn’t remember ever loving anyone, but some half-forgotten instinct knew he could fall hard and fast for Remy, if he hadn’t already.

The thought of letting anyone own that much of him made Logan nervous, but that wasn’t enough to make him consider getting on his bike and leaving Remy behind. He didn’t really know what it meant for his future, but for now he was very sure he wouldn’t be letting Remy out of his sight unless he got the feeling Remy wanted him to make himself scarce, and even then he didn’t think he could stay away long. He would just have to put his faith in Remy and trust the kid not to rip him to shreds just because he could. It wasn’t easy for him, but he figured it would be worth the risk.

Remy put the mushrooms and then the pasta into the skillet with the other ingredients and then put a lid on the skillet. He turned the burner down to a simmer and turned to look at Logan, leaning against the counter. He could feel Logan’s emotions flitting from happy and relaxed to nervous or worried and back again, and he wanted to know why. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Logan smiled crookedly at Remy. “It’s nothin’ you need to worry about. Just thinking.”

Remy looked into Logan’s eyes a long moment, liking the gentle warmth he saw there even as Logan’s nervousness faded away again, and he made a decision. He started to speak before he could change his mind, afraid that if he thought about it he’d wind up not saying anything, which suddenly seemed wrong to him. He didn’t want to have to keep any secrets from Logan. “I showed you dat I can charge something I touch, but dat’s not all I can do, cher. Sometimes I pick up emotions, too.”

Logan blinked and then asked slowly, “So you know what I’m feeling right now?”

Remy nodded. “If I let down de walls I built to keep from goin’ insane, yeah. I can’t do it in town, not with so many people close, but here it be safe enough.”

Logan thought about that for a moment and then smiled slightly, trying to ignore the panicky, reactive corner of himself that didn’t want anyone to have such an advantage over him. “I guess that’s not much different from the way I can smell how you’re feelin’.” He paused and then added, “I’m glad you told me, though.”

Remy smiled back, relieved at how well Logan was taking finding out that he couldn’t hide much, not if Remy wanted to know what he was feeling. “I’m glad you feel that way, cher, but you still haven’t answered me. I could feel you all tangled up an’ nervous about somethin’.” He paused and then added, “Even a little scared.”

Logan looked into Remy’s eyes for a moment and then took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he finally nodded. If anything was going to work between him and Remy, he’d have to be as honest as Remy had been and just hope for the best. “This is new territory for me, or feels like it is at least. Trusting someone enough to … care about them is hard, but I can’t help how I feel.” He shrugged slightly, uneasy about putting so much of himself on the line, but the crooked smile appeared again as he admitted softly, “You could already hurt me if you wanted to, but that doesn’t keep me from wantin’ to get even closer.”

Remy pushed away from the counter, walking over to Logan and kneeling gracefully next to Logan’s chair to look up at him. “You an’ me, we got a lot in common.”

Logan reached out to cup Remy’s jaw in the palm of his hand, thumb stroking along one high cheekbone as he murmured, “We do, huh?” He noticed Remy’s relief then and started to relax again, suddenly sure that being honest had been the right choice.

“Oh yeah,” Remy agreed, leaning into Logan’s touch with a soft smile. “When you asked to help I was thinkin’ about de same things, cher.”

Logan smiled and scooted his chair back, then reached for Remy as he murmured, “C’mere.”

Remy moved willingly up into Logan’s lap, making a soft noise when Logan cupped one hand around the nape of his neck to pull him into a slow, lingering kiss that left Remy a bit breathless. Logan leaned even closer then to whisper into Remy’s ear, “I think maybe we can both stop worrying about how much we like this an’ just enjoy it, babe.”

Remy smiled and turned to kiss Logan again instead of replying, sure Logan would smell his relief and happiness even as he could feel the same emotions in Logan.

 

~*~

 

Logan and Remy spent more than half the night talking and having sex before they finally went to sleep, so it really shouldn’t have surprised them that they overslept. Remy had fifteen minutes to get to work when he rolled out of bed, and Logan spent half of that time laughing as he watched Remy scramble into his clothes. Logan had gotten dressed in a minute flat, so he had plenty of time to enjoy seeing Remy panic. The knee-high combat boots were the best part, watching Remy hop around on one foot while he tightened the laces and cursed because he didn’t want to take the time to sit down.

They were both finally on the way to the door when Remy suddenly turned back and hurried into his bedroom as he said, “Go start de bike, I’m coming!”

Logan laughed and continued to the door. “Babe, come on, you look fine!” It amused him quite a bit how vain and particular Remy was about his appearance, but he had to admit if only to himself that Remy cleaned up nice enough to make the effort worth it. Remy had checked his full-length mirror three times as he got dressed and ended up throwing the red silk shirt he had started with into the closet and changing it for a white one with ruffled cuffs that he thought went better with the dark violet dinner jacket he had decided to wear. Logan didn’t think either of them particularly went with Remy’s black jeans and boots, but he wasn’t about to say so. If he did, Remy would never make it in to work on time.

Logan went out on the porch and raised the kickstand on his bike, which he had parked on the low porch so it would be out of the weather if it rained. He rolled the bike carefully down the old wooden steps as he called, “My bike’s fast, but I’m not gonna get arrested to get you to work.”

Remy thudded down the stairs just as Logan settled onto the Harley, and he swung onto the back of Logan’s bike without hesitation, grinning at the deep-throated roar of the motor when Logan kick-started the bike. “Shut up an’ drive, cher.”

Logan laughed and started the bike forward, going faster than was probably safe down Remy’s overgrown driveway. “I know I didn’t knock you up, so what’re you hidin’ under that coat?”

Remy laughed and poked Logan in the side just before they turned onto the gravel road. “You worry about drivin’ and let me worry ‘bout what I got.”

Logan snickered and opened up the throttle on the bike, enjoying the way Remy clung to him as the Harley threw gravel and sped off towards the highway.

Despite what Logan had said he broke the speed limit all the way to the bar, roaring up to the door and stopping in a puff of dust as he looked over his shoulder at Remy, grinning. “Go on in. I gotta park the bike.”

Remy grinned and climbed off the bike as he pulled out of his duster a brown leather jacket that had contrasting tan trim on the shoulders. “You might wanna put this away before you come inside, cher. De bar is too warm for it this time of de year.”

Logan blinked, surprised but still grinning as he took the jacket. “Where’d this come from?”

“It’s yours, cher,” Remy said, smiling. “You left it in my plane an’ I never got de chance to give it back.” He leaned to kiss Logan thoroughly, not caring who might see, and then turned towards the door to the bar as he added, “You never told me where you got de jacket, but you didn’t want to risk losing it on de island. I kept it for you.”

Remy didn’t bother to explain that he had kept it hoping that Logan would remember he had the jacket. It had been very important to Logan once, though Remy didn’t know the story behind it, and he had been sure that Logan would remember it eventually and track him down. He wasn’t sure that Logan would remember anymore, but it didn’t matter anyway. Logan was happy as he was, and Remy was happy to be with him, and the man Logan had been could rest in peace with the beautiful woman he had loved.

Remy reached into his duster and Logan was surprised to realize that Remy had his own keys to the bar. He watched Remy unlock the door as he sat there on his idling bike, holding the leather jacket. “Thanks, babe.”

Remy glanced over his shoulder at Logan as he put his keys away again, smiling cheerfully. “It was a pleasure, cher.”

Remy opened the door then and went into the bar, so Logan turned his bike towards the tree where he had parked the day before, driving much more slowly now that he didn’t have to hurry. He parked the Harley and shut it down, then took a moment to get a closer look at the leather jacket that seemed familiar despite the fact he didn’t remember it. The distressed finish of the brown leather had scuffs and scars in several places showing that he – or someone, at least – had needed the protection it offered more than once, but the leather was supple and butter-soft. Logan could tell that it was made from quality cowhide that had been well cared for and obviously had years of life left in it, and he could easily believe he had cherished it.

Logan swung the jacket around his shoulders to try it on, shrugging into the sleeves and then smiling. Something about the heft of the jacket and the feel of the leather felt so right to him that it already seemed like a part of him. He wasn’t sure if the leather jacket had been made for him or not, but it fit well enough it might as well have been. He lifted the collar towards his face and inhaled, grinning when he recognized Remy’s scent and cologne with his own scent a fainter echo in the background. Remy had obviously worn the jacket more than once for his scent to be so strong in it, and the thought of Remy being swallowed whole by his leather jacket made Logan chuckle softly to himself. Remy might be taller, but Logan outweighed him and was quite a bit wider through the shoulders.

He dismounted his bike and tucked the keys into his pocket automatically, then paused and laughed slightly as he realized what he had done. He might not remember the jacket but muscle-memory evidently did, the way his hand had tucked away his keys and zipped the pocket in one smooth move. It had happened as naturally and automatically as so many other forgotten habits that his body remembered even if he couldn’t, and Logan wondered not for the first time if he’d ever really remember any of what he had lost on the island. He didn’t even know that he wanted to, not anymore, but sometimes he still thought it might be nice to know something so simple as his own birthday.

Logan had planned to put the jacket in the bike’s panniers like Remy suggested, but it felt so right to wear it that he changed his mind. He turned and headed for the bar, smiling and wondering if he liked beignets since he knew that was what Remy planned to make for breakfast.

 

~*~

 

Remy walked into the darkened bar, chuckling when he heard that the radio in the kitchen was on and Caroline was in there singing along loudly. The familiar old song was one he had always liked too, and he headed towards the muffled music as he hummed along, amused at Caroline’s singing. He opened the door to the kitchen and leaned against the doorway, trying not to snicker as he watched his boss dancing around the prep station, singing into a big stainless steel spoon.

“ _If you didn’t come to party, don’t bother knockin’ on my door! I got a lion in my pocket, and baby he’s ready to roa—_ shit!” Caroline cursed as she turned and saw Remy, blushing very red. “You so did not see or hear a word of that, Remy. You understand me?”

Remy snickered. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Caroline glared at him a moment and then couldn’t help a giggle, turning to put the spoon back in the big canister of implements by the stove. “Glad we understand each other.” She turned back towards him, blue eyes sparkling despite her slowly fading blush as she added, “And you know you’re late, right?”

Remy laughed and moved further into the kitchen, leaving the door open as he went to hang up his duster in the storeroom. “I was in de front door before eleven, dat counts as on time.”

“Maybe by a minute,” Caroline said, laughing softly as she moved a stool from the side wall of the kitchen over to the prep counter that doubled as her kitchen table. She sat down, propping her elbows on the counter as she teased, “I bet _somebody_ overslept.”

Remy grinned, not looking at her. “Dat would be a safe bet.”

Caroline grinned widely. “I heard a bike roar up out front and I can see a hickey on your neck from here, so don’t even try to deny your friend stayed the night, Remy dear. I gather you had a good night?”

Remy headed for the pantry shelving to gather the ingredients for beignets, still grinning a bit despite a slight blush. He had thought his hair and the collar of his jacket would hide the bite mark on the nape of his neck well enough to avoid any teasing, but evidently he had been wrong. “You could say dat, cher.”

“Good!” Caroline said firmly, pleased. “You shouldn’t be alone so much.”

Remy carried the flour, yeast, sugar, and a can of milk over to the prep counter, smiling. “I won’t be. Logan, he’s gonna be stickin’ around.”

“As long as Remy wants me around,” Logan agreed with amusement, walking into the kitchen. “Mornin’ Cary.”

Caroline grinned widely at Logan. “Mornin’, Logan. If you’re sticking around, maybe you could use a job. I had to fire my other bartender last night, so the six to midnight shift is open…”

Logan laughed, leaning against the prep counter near Caroline. “No dice, Cary. I leave when Remy does.”

“Remy will be de one dat gets stuck covering de shift half de time until she finds someone anyway,” Remy said as he went to the industrial-sized fridge in the corner to get eggs, shortening, and butter.

Logan turned his head to watch Remy, grinning. “Is that a hint I might as well get paid for hangin’ around?”

Remy closed the fridge and grinned at Logan. “We both know you’ll get so bored y’ wind up behind de bar with me anyway, cher.”

Logan laughed and teased, “Maybe I was plannin’ to work on my pool game. I bet I can get somebody around here to play if I throw enough cash on the table.”

Remy snickered. “Uh-huh, an’ next you’ll be takin’ up baking.”

“I can make pancakes,” Logan said, amused. “Anything more complicated than that I’m gonna leave to you.”

“Smart man,” Caroline said, giggling. “Remy hides it well, but he’s a great cook.”

Logan looked at her again, grinning. “He makes a mean box of stroganoff.”

Caroline looked at Remy, laughing. “You fed him _Hamburger Helper_?”

“It was easy an’ quick,” Remy defended himself, laughing. “An’ it didn’t need me to babysit while it cooked.”

Caroline grinned impishly. “Couldn’t keep your hands off him for that long, huh?”

“I plead de fifth on account of de fact dat we broke a law or two,” Remy said, smirking at Logan. “Repeatedly.”

“At least three laws,” Logan corrected with a smirk at Remy. “There ain’t nothin’ we did that’s legal in Alabama, baby.”

“Oh yes, having you around is going to be fun,” Caroline said to Logan then, giggling at Remy’s blush.

“I aim to please,” Logan replied, still watching Remy with a smirk.

Caroline grinned, watching Logan watch Remy. “I hope you know what you’re doing behind a bar as well as you know how to make Remy blush.”

Logan turned the smirk on Caroline, eyes sparkling as he said smugly, “I’m very good at what I do.”

Remy laughed and went to get the measuring cups, murmuring quietly enough he hoped only Logan would hear him, “Especially when dat’s me.”

Logan turned his head to watch Remy, still looking smug as Caroline watched them with a grin. “You’re going to get into more fights than Remy does, I can see it now.”

Logan looked back at Caroline, amused. “You gonna fire me for kicking some redneck ass?”

“Not if you do it outside,” Caroline said quickly, laughing. “I’ll even run book for you.”

Remy laughed. “De fights in de parking lot are de best entertainment we got, most nights.”

“Works for me,” Logan said, smirking.

 

 

 _~ End  
_


End file.
